


Malicious

by penmarks



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Children of Characters, Civil War (Marvel), Gen, HYDRA Trash Party, Hydra (Marvel), Major Original Character(s), Marvel References, Marvel Universe, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Original Character-centric, Originally Posted Elsewhere, POV Original Female Character, SHIELD, SHIELD Family, Sexual Violence, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-02-10 23:23:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18670468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penmarks/pseuds/penmarks
Summary: ❝They asked her to be ruthless, cruel, and malicious. That's exactly what she became.❞ In which we learn more about the girl S.H.I.EL.D. couldn't keep up with and HYDRA left behind.This is a spin-off of my story, "Cruel Intentions," which I plot-adopted from @tinkertaydust on Wattpad. It is basically a prequel that follows the early life and circumstances of my original character that developed during my writing of that story. Savannah King appears in this story and she was created by Tay. This story and Alina Malveaux wouldn't exist without Tay's plot idea for Cruel Intentions, so be sure to check her out!This is also a project for Camp NaNoWriMo (April of 2019) with a goal of 10,000 words.





	1. mundane

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Cruel Intentions](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13615833) by [penmarks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/penmarks/pseuds/penmarks). 



**2012**

 

The decision to leave was one that had been brewing for some time, but the moment Alina had landed back in the dull room that was beginning to feel like home, she knew that something had to be done.

She curled into herself on her perfectly made bed and stared blankly into the white plaster wall across from her. The emptiness that consumed her was one that had been building for a long while, and it had begun to swallow her whole.

The Battle of New York, they had called it, after the fact.

_After._

That was all she had. Her life had become a series of before and after.

Before the Battle of New York. Before the moment she knew her parents had been in the line of fire. Before she was involuntarily bounced around a S.H.I.E.L.D. foster system. Before all of that, her life had been chaotic.

After another fight, after another failed therapist, after another outburst, all that was left was the emptiness.

Children of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were not afforded the privilege of stability, normality, or comfort. They got cold walls, special badges, police escorts, and aliases. Orphaned children of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, especially the "troubled" ones, were cycled through so many foster families that they all blurred together. Rejection letters, fights with other children, long talks with therapists and doctors and agents who had known their parents.

Alina's eighteenth birthday was still a distant dream, which meant she'd be stuck in the cycle for at least two more years. She tried and failed to take a deep breath, squeezed her eyes shut, and set her jaw.

Lunchtime was thirty minutes away. Someone would surely come looking for her if she didn't show up. If she refused to eat, it'd be another meeting with Phil Coulson, in which he pretended to be anything more than a friend of her parents. If she tried to take her food back to her room, someone would surely follow after to her check-in, make sure she's alright.

_Of course I'm not alright._

Alina mouthed the words to herself and hugged her knees tighter to her chest. She'd said it so many times, but no one ever seemed to listen or understand. Things had become so predictable, so boring, so tired, that it made her itch. All she'd ever wanted was a normal life, but not with the type of structure that S.H.I.E.L.D. programs had to offer.

A knock came at the door and sent a jolt of shock through her. Phil Coulson's head peeked around the corner, probably with the expectation of a projectile being hurled his way. His voice was gentle.

"Hey, Alina," he said. "I know this is discouraging, exhausting... but you have to eat."

"I'll come down soon," she said without lifting her eyes. "Go away."

"No need," he said and took a few steps into the room. Alina didn't want to look up at him, but the smell of her favorite soup from the cafeteria pulled her attention away from the wall. As much as she wanted to be angry with him for invading her space, her eyes prickled and the knot in her stomach climbed into her throat. "I'll be around when you decide you want to talk about this, Alina. You know that."

"Yeah," she said, an all-too-familiar scratchiness her in her throat. "Yeah, I know."

He left her at that. It was clear that he was done pretending to be a therapist, and that he might've even been making an attempt to grasp her problems with human interaction. Alina slid off the bed and cupped her hands around the hot mug of tomato soup. As she slurped it down, it seemed to fill the hole inside her, at least a bit. However, when its warmth waned and she was left with an empty dish, her thoughts returned to her original course of action.

It wasn't an entirely difficult task, escaping the confines of the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility that Alina had come to know so well. She'd been in, out, and around so much of it in the past three years that memorizing its layout had become second nature.

She didn't have very many belongings, which made it easy to pack them all away into the standard-issue backpack that all of the kids received from the S.H.I.E.LD. upon arrival to the program. Originally, it had been filled with clean clothes, a blanket, a journal, and some food to hold them over during the few days that they inevitably isolated themselves and refused to eat at the cafeteria.

Alina's bag contained very similar contents as she crept around corners and slid through doors marked "AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL" before they swung shut behind distracted agents. She'd taken her pillow, a blanket, clothes, some granola, and the bit of cash she'd been saving while she moved through foster homes.

"Alina," a gentle voice called out from behind her. She didn't stop moving.

She'd just made it to the hallway that would take her to the back exit, a place she thought would be deserted on account of it being lunchtime.

"Alina," he said again. She heard his quick footsteps approach and turned around before he had the chance to grab her by the arm. It was an agent she didn't necessarily recognize, though she felt like she probably should have known his name. "Alina, you're not trapped here. You're more than free to come and go as you please—"

"I know that," she said. "I'm going as I please."

He snorted a laugh and scanned over her. Overfilled backpack, pillowcase stuffed with a blanket, her hair surely a mess and eyes red from crying.

"You're free to come and go as you please, as long as you let someone know where you're going—"

"I'm going out."

"—and as long as you come back."

Alina bit the inside of her cheek and assessed how much of a threat this man really posed. She didn't want to hurt him, she didn't want to hurt anyone. But if he was going to stand in her way, she didn't have very many options.

"No promises about that one," she said.

The agent recognized the calculating look in her eyes, but he was ultimately too slow to react before Alina had dropped her pillow, kicked his legs out from under him, and delivered a sharp blow with her knee to his nose. He fell onto the cold, concrete floor with a groan. Not quite unconscious, but debilitated enough for Alina to get a head start.

She tucked her pillow under her arm and sprinted to the end of the hall, through the door, and out into the cool, autumn breeze. She could hear the city from where she stood. With less than no idea about what she was going to do when she got there, she broke back into a sprint in that direction. The direction which she had come back and forth from so many times. Back and forth between people who didn't want her, found her too difficult to handle, or were scared of her.

 _Never again_ , she told herself. She'd never go back there again. She'd never see Phil Coulson or another S.H.I.E.L.D. agent again. She'd live on the streets until she could find a job, a place, a normal life. Something normal, simple, mundane.

Somewhere far removed and distant from government agencies and "Enhanced individuals" and resentment toward the death of her parents. Alina Malveaux would be a normal human being, even if it killed her to do it. 


	2. maladaptive

Alina had underestimated the difficulty of staying under the radar as the child of two deceased S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. She'd managed to stay on the run throughout the city for a few weeks, but the suffocation was quick to set in again. Every street corner, bodega, and coffee shop had cameras that could be tapped. Undercover agents lurked around corners and shifted their eyes in her direction. She began to wonder what they were waiting for. Why they hadn't made a move, cuffed her, and thrown her back into her assigned bedroom at the S.H.I.E.LD. facility.

She shifted her position on the ground and tucked her backpack more comfortably under her head. She'd just wanted a few more minutes of sleep before she moved to another ally for the next day. It didn't take long for Alina to learn that it was only safe to sleep and move at night. Between S.H.I.E.LD. and the police arresting homeless people asleep on sidewalks or park benches, she couldn't take her chances.

Alina's eyes opened into the black night, disoriented. She wasn't sure what had startled her into alertness, but she wouldn't take her chances. By the time the officer rounded the corner with his flashlight, she was already on her feet and ready to run.

"Hey!"

Alina's stomach jumped to her throat as she turned to the end of the alley. Dead end.

She could make it past the officer. He was tall, top-heavy, easy to throw off balance. She went for, dove forward, tucking into herself to slip past his left side. A helpless yelp left her throat as the officer wrapped his fingers around the tangled mess of her long ponytail and used it as leverage to pull her back toward him.

He didn't say anything, and Alina wasn't aware of much more than the cold, steel handcuffs securing her wrists. She'd dropped her backpack and run out of time to pick it back up from the grimy concrete.

It all happened so quickly. Too fast to process.

The next time Alina opened her eyes, she found herself in a hospital bed. The lights were dimmed, maybe to make the room look more welcoming or less disorienting. It didn't do much to ease her mind. She jerked into a sitting position, prepared to grab her bag and flee. The movement made her head spin and when she tried to brush the hair out of her eyes, she realized that her wrists were bound to the bed.

"No, no, no, no," she murmured to herself, jerking at the cloth straps around her arms. She kicked her feet, which seemed to be free to move. Her pulse pounded in her ears. How had she lost so much time? Who arrested her? Why did it land her in the hospital? "What's going on... Where..."

"Hello, Alina," a quiet voice said from the doorway. She raised her eyes to meet the source, but her vision doubled and her stomach heaved. "I'm glad you're awake. I'm sorry about the sedation. When they brought you in, it seemed you were a danger to yourself and others."

It was a woman. She'd moved closer to the bed. A cold hand touched Alina's bare arm and gently pushed her back into the mattress. The room felt darker, somehow, like it had filled with smoke or the lights had been dimmed further. She couldn't quite make out the woman's face, but her voice was comforting.

"Why am I here?" Alina asked through trembling lips. "I—I feel fine. I'm not injured."

"The officer that brought you in seemed to think otherwise, honey." The woman's cold touch traced down Alina's arm and brushed the sheets away from her right forearm. She immediately flinched away from the contact, but couldn't get far. "You're not trapped here. I know the restraints can feel suffocating, but it was for your own safety. I hope you understand."

"No, I'm—Those... on my arm, I can explain—"

"You don't have to, sweetheart. We're going to get you on some medication to help stabilize you, and then we're going to figure out where you belong and get you back there." She sounded so nice and genuine, but something about the entire situation was eerie and dark and made Alina want to run. "It's not safe to be out in the streets like you were. Especially not in the city. You're lucky that officer found you when he did."

Alina twisted her arms in the straps and set her jaw. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to remember anything that had gotten her there, in that bed. Anything.

"Please..." She whispered. "Can you please just... tell me what happened?"

"We can talk about it more after you wake up, alright?"

Alina opened her eyes and tried to focus on the woman's face. She could make out the shape of her hair, but the color was lost on her in the low light. She might've been wearing lipstick. Her skin seemed awfully pale. She wasn't wearing white, like a normal nurse. Her uniform was dark. Black? Navy? There was a patch on her sleeve that Alina squinted and tried to make out.

It was startlingly similar to the S.H.I.E.LD. emblem, but she knew it couldn't be. They wouldn't do this. They couldn't be motivated to take it this far. Arresting her, involuntarily hospitalizing her. She wished she could just remember what had happened. Alina shook her head and tried to process all of the foreign information coming her way.

"But I'm already—"

Before the word "awake" crossed her lips, a cloud of drowsiness was rolling across Alina. Her eyelids felt impossibly heavier, her muscles relaxed despite her terror. There was a pinch in her arm that was gone by the time she looked down in search of its source.

 _Drugged._  Was it the medication the woman had mentioned? Something else? Was it Alina's own brain failing her? Did she have a concussion? The meaning and importance of it all slipped out of her grasp. She couldn't let it go, not yet. Not before she knew what had happened.

_No. No. Keep your eyes open. Don't fall asleep. Please..._

"Tired..." Alina mumbled. Her head fell to one side and her eyes finally closed. "I'm... tired."

**—**

Weeks passed, and the only thing Alina learned from her nurses and caretakers was how to hide her self-injury more efficiently. Her restraints had been long-since removed, once she was seemed non-threatening to herself and the other patients around her. She didn't get to see very many of these fabled "other patients" very often.

She spent most of her time sitting in the middle of her bed, staring at the wall. It was reminiscent of her time at the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility, but there hadn't been any indication that it had been them to put her in a hospital or arrested her. Whatever patch she thought she had seen on the nurse's sleeve the first day never made another appearance. There wasn't any shift eyes or whispers of an agent coming to get her.

Things seemed... normal. It was the very thing that Alina had wanted since the thrill of having S.H.I.E.L.D. agents as parents wore off. Despite that, hopelessness filled her. It seemed masked by whatever she was being given twice a day, but it was definitely still there.

Whatever privileges and accommodations she was given at the hospital, she knew she could forget them the moment they tried to put her back into the foster care system. Her name would raise red flags in the system and Phil Coulson would be escorting her back to her room before she could even think of a way to get around it.

She should have lied about her name when they'd brought her in. Or when she was arrested. It all remained so cloudy, like a distant dream or something that hadn't really happened to her. She didn't remember telling anyone her name, but she knew that she had to have been so afraid that she would've told anyone anything they wanted to know.

The nurse had been right—she wasn't trapped in her room. She'd originally thought that once she was free to move around, the first thing she'd do was plan an escape. The medication they had been feeding her quashed all of that motivation. At some point, it had been explained to her, but that memory was cloudy, too. There had been some kind of diagnosis. Talk of anti-psychotics. She didn't know if that's what she had been taking. Whatever it was, it was strong enough to put her in a constant daze.

Alina mindlessly twisted the sheet that she had pulled from her bed. She had no reason to believe anyone would be checking in on her for the night, so she was in no rush. She hadn't decided where she was going to do it yet, but she knew it would happen. As soon as she could craft her bed sheet into something resembling a noose, it would be over. She would be free. From S.H.I.E.L.D., from unnamed medication, from involuntary hospitalization, from foster families that didn't want her.

She had believed for so long that all she wanted was a normal, mundane, boring life. As she twisted her bed sheet between her hands, the realization settled on her. Alina no longer wanted a normal life. She didn't want any kind of life. She wanted to escape it all. She wanted to be dead. 


	3. macabre

Alina spent hours pretending to be asleep. Her throat burned and her head was still spinning. There wasn't much she remembered, just that her makeshift noose had been a failure and that a nurse had collected her collapsed body from the bathroom after she'd tried to hang herself from the shower curtain rail. She wanted nothing more than a glass of water, but she knew the moment that she let them know she was conscious, she would be medicated and condescended to once more.

Her throat burned. It hurt to breathe. She cautiously opened her eyes into the dim light of her room. She'd expected restraints but had never received any. Much to her surprise, there was already a tall glass of water sitting beside the bed. She reached for it desperately and nearly choked when a voice called out from the shadows behind her.

"I'm glad you finally woke up," he said. "I was starting to think you wouldn't."

She turned her head, winced, and took a few more gulps of water. She didn't recognize the man as he stepped into the light, arms crossed and shoulders set. As he came closer, she recognized the navy blue of his shirt and the S.H.I.E.L.D. emblem on the sleeves.

_It was them. It has always been them._

"Get away from me," Alina said. She slid toward the opposite side of the bed, her hands trembling as she set the water aside. "I'm not going back. You won't take me back. I'll throw myself off the roof if I have to."

The man smiled and let his arms fall to his sides.

"Don't worry, Alina. This... blemish... is only a cover. I'm here to help."

"No." She shook her head and let her bare feet hit the tile floor. "I've learned what help from S.H.I.E.L.D. means. I don't want it."

The man moved around the end of the bed, following Alina step-for-step as she took uneasy backward steps toward the bathroom. He had dark hair, dark eyes, and olive skin. Something about him chilled Alina to the bone, and it was something more than the patch on his sleeve.

"Please," she said. "Please, I know you're just trying to help. I know the hospital is trying to help but the only way you can help me is to let me go home."

"You don't have a home," he said. It wasn't cruel or mal-intentioned. It was very matter-of-fact. "We both know that. So why don't you just sit down and listen to watch I have to say?"

"Are you listening to what I have to say? I don't want your help! I'm not interested! Leave me alone!"

The man sighed and leaned against one corner of the bed, his arms crossed again.

"My name is Brock Rumlow. I technically do work for S.H.I.E.L.D., that's why I'm wearing this shirt. But I only work for them so I can get information about important people to help me with bigger and better things."

Alina had stopped moving backward.

"'Important people.' You mean children of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. I'm not important. You just want—"

"Not necessarily," he said and nodded toward the pillows on the other end of the bed. "Let's sit down and talk."

For reasons she couldn't explain, Alina drifted toward the bed and climbed back in. She sat cross-legged, still defensive, and prepared to listen.

"A lot has happened these past few years, especially since your parents have died," he said. "I know you think I'm here to recruit you, to help rebuild the pieces of S.H.I.E.LD. that have been lost. Pieces they'll continue to lose. I can promise you now, my intentions couldn't be more opposite."

It took a moment to register, but eventually, the information settled in and another wave of goosebumps ran over Alina's clammy skin.

"You're... You're trying to take them down."

Brock Rumlow shrugged and rubbed his hands together.

"Some may say that. But what's another government organization? It's less about them than it is about the well-being of the entire world." He seemed to fight off a smile. "I can tell you everything if you come with me. You can learn anything you'd like to know about me and my colleagues, right after we get you some treatment."

"No," Alina said. All of her minimal trust for Brock Rumlow melted away. "No. I don't want—I don't need any more treatment, whatever that means. Just let me go. That's all I want. That's all I need."

"It's not that kind of treatment," Brock insisted. "Not drugs, not nurses and doctors. Just rehabilitation. Basic physical therapy and bed rest and a good diet to get you back on your feet after this... this tragic thing you've just gone through."

His dark eyes danced below her face, inevitably taking in the irritated skin around her neck. She wondered if there would be bruises. She bit the inside of her cheek.

She felt so small in that dark room. What were her options if she stayed there? What would they do? What would  _she_  do?

It didn't take much thought.

"Fine," she said. "If I decide I don't like you and your... colleagues. What then?"

"Then you're free to go."

Alina cocked her head. "I've heard that one a couple of times before."

He scoffed and turned his head toward the closed door of her hospital room.

"I've told you everything I can right now. You have the potential to be a part of something bigger, something that will hone you into the sharpest and most elite version of yourself." He seemed to sense the skepticism that rolled off from Alina in waves. "We're not talking eugenics. No involuntary experiments or drugs. Like I said before, think of it as rehabilitation. If you're unimpressed, you're free to go back to wandering the streets of New York City alone."

"Sounds like a gimmick," Alina said. "There's always a catch. Especially with S.H.I.E.L.D., there's always something."

Something flared up in Brock's eyes that filled Alina with a new type of chill. It wasn't intimidation or unease about being approached in a dark room by a strange man. It was fear.

"I told you," he said, clearly in an attempt to stay level and keep his voice from wavering. "I'm not S.H.I.E.L.D., this is a cover. We're not—"

"Then who are you? Who are they? Who is  _we_?" She was afraid to push it any farther, to challenge his statements any more than she already had. She almost couldn't help it, it was her nature. "What is this, really?"

Brock stood from the bed and smoothed out the front of his shirt.

"An opportunity," he said. "Take it or leave it, Miss Malveaux."

Alina wrung her hands together and bit down harder on the inside of her cheek. He was leaving, his hand was on the doorknob. For some reason, that filled Alina with a renewed sense of terror.

"Wait," Alina muttered. He didn't seem to hear her. "Wait!"

Brock turned around and smiled at her. In the dim light and shadow of the hospital room, it felt sinister, dirty, dangerous.

Alina had past the point of caring. She didn't have many desirable options left. Though she knew there had to be some kind of catch to the proposal at hand, what else could she do? She could stay in a hospital room and continue to be drugged. She could escape the hospital and go back to the city streets, likely to be arrested and institutionalized again.

Or should take the leap. Find out more about what Brock Rumlow was talking about. As strange as it all was, she did believe him when he told her that she was free to go if she didn't like what she saw. That was a choice she had never really been given before.

"I'll come," she said. Her feet were already on the floor. "I'll come with you."

The dark, shadowy man before her shrugged off his S.H.I.E.L.D. jacket and tossed it at her.

"You'll need a cover if we're going to get you out of here."

Alina turned over the fabric in her hands with a grimace. If all she had to do to get out of there was wear a jacket with a logo she resented sewn onto it, she would take what she could get. She slipped it on and followed Brock through the doorway.

It must have been the middle of the night, Alina thought. The hospital felt abandoned. Most of the lights were dimmed or turned off entirely. Brock seemed to know exactly where he was going as he turned down long, sterile corridors, hardly looking back to see if Alina was following. She remained on high alert, looking over her shoulders and feeling as if she was spinning in circles to be sure she couldn't be caught off guard.

A shiver passed over her body as she and Brock entered the front lobby of the hospital. There was a nurse's station there, with one woman typing at a desktop computer. She glanced up at Alina and Brock, but her eyes didn't linger. Alina was distinctly aware of the sound of her bare feet padding against the tile floor.

The woman behind the desk next gave them a second look. Alina and Brock stepped out into the chill of the night.

A red car idled at the curb. To Alina's surprise, Brock stopped and opened the passenger door and motioned for her to get in. She looked down at herself, back at him, and tried to see the driver of the vehicle. It was too dark to make them out from her vantage point. Alina stepped forward and ducked into the passenger seat of the car.

A pale, twenty-something man with dark hair got out of the driver's seat and allowed Brock to take his place. Before Alina had the chance to have a second thought or ask questions, Brock had pulled away from the curb and begun driving into the night.

"It's gonna be a long ride," Brock said. He reached forward and adjusted the volume of the radio. Quiet rock music floated from the speakers. "Feel free to close your eyes and sleep."

_Sleep?_

The idea of being able to relax enough to sleep almost made Alina laugh aloud. She had been abducted from the hospital in nothing but a gown and a S.H.I.E.L.D. jacket with a strange man and his silent friend. Now, she was plunged into darkness, riding down a road which, for all she knew, had no end.

Despite those thoughts, Alina eventually found herself drifting off. She leaned her head against the window and let the music and the rumble of the engine lull her into unconsciousness. When she awoke, Brock was leaning in the passenger side door, gently trying to shake her awake. Her first reaction was to flinch away from his touch, but she suppressed that reflex the best she could.

"Morning, sunshine," he said. "Welcome home."

The tinge in his voice and the smile on his face made Alina shiver. She slowly peeled herself out of the seat and stood next to Brock. They seemed to be in some sort of parking garage. There were no other cars, no parking spaces, and no other people in sight. The driver's side door closed behind them, and a different man, blond this time, drove off in the car, perhaps to another parking level.

"Where..." Alina started. She spun in a slow circle and tried to take in her surroundings.

Brock didn't answer her partial question, only started walking the opposite direction that the car had driven off in. Alina followed him the same way she had in the hospital. When the two of them came across stairs, they only went down, lower into more cement and silence. It wasn't until several more flights of metal stairs were descended that Alina finally heard the bustle of human life.

The source of the noise seemed to come out of nowhere. Instead of cement walls and dim lighting, Alina found herself walking past conference rooms, training spaces, bedrooms. The spaces weren't quite crowded, but they were undeniably occupied. Despite the commotion, something about the place felt bleak, gray, almost boring. Even in the thrill of uncertainty, Alina had a feeling that Brock might've been honest with her when he had told her where they were going. It all seemed to add up: physical therapy, training, rehabilitation.

"This is you," Brock said. He stopped and pushed a steel door open into a bedroom. It was reminiscent of her bedroom at the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility, but for some reason that didn't bother Alina as much as she had expected. "There are some clothes in the dresser, bedding in the closet. I'll be back in an hour or so and we can get some food in you."

Alina stepped forward, dazed. There was a desk against one wall, a bed and a dresser against another. There was a lamp at the end of the bed that cast warm light across the cement walls and contrasted the fluorescence in the hallway.

"I... uh..." Alina rubbed a hand across her face and turned to Brock, then back to the room.

"Thank you."

Brock gave her a tight smile and laid a stiff hand on her shoulder.

"Get changed, check it out. We'll talk later about your treatment."

Alina was silent and remained still as the door clicked shut behind her. She was overwhelmed and exhausted, despite the sleep she'd gotten in the car. She had no idea how long the drive had been or where she was, but somehow, it was okay. For the first time in years, Alina had a spark of hope, a glimmer of an idea that maybe, she too, would be okay. 


	4. madmen

_Right. Left. Right, right. Left. Right. Left, left._

Panting, Alina stepped back from the punching bag when a familiar silhouette stood outlined the doorway of the darkened training room.

"Sorry," she said and wiped an arm across her sweaty forehead. "It's late. Am I being loud?"

"Not at all," Brock said. He stepped into the light, hands tucked in the back pockets of his jeans. "It's actually perfect that you're awake. There's someone I want you to meet if you're feeling up for it."

"Not really," Alina said with a chuckle. She motioned down at herself, wearing nothing but leggings and a sports bra. A sheen of sweat covered her body. "Is there time for a shower? Or maybe sleep?"

"If you want to wait for the morning, that's fine. He's free now, and I thought you might be interested." Brock shrugged. "There's no need to be concerned about appearances. Director Pierce is aware of your hard work here and would hardly be deterred by a little sweat."

His eyes seemed to drag across every inch of Alina's bare skin. She shivered and crossed her arms, only in part because of Brock's lingering eyes.

"Pierce." She shook her head. "I recognize that name. That's a S.H.I.E.L.D. name."

"In a way, yes." Brock tossed her a towel and jerked his head toward the door. "Walk with me."

Hesitantly, Alina complied.

"Alexander Pierce was the Secretary of Defense for the US, but that's hardly where you'd know the name from. He's also a high-ranking S.H.I.EL.D. Agent on the World Security Council, appointed by Nick Fury himself."

"You called him Director Pierce."

"Yes." Brock took a sharp left turn down another hallway, swiped his badge at a door, and kept moving. "He's our boss, if you want to call it that."

Alina slowed her pace as they approached the end of a corridor. It was starting to feel like this was the catch she had been looking for. Things had been going relatively well for a month or so. She'd been supplied food, clothing, training, and human connection if she desired it. Standing at the end of a clearance-locked corridor with Brock Rumlow was the last place she had wanted nor expected to be.

"I promise you, this isn't S.H.I.E.L.D., not in the way you think of it. I know you must be thinking that it feels incredibly similar, but we're doing something different here. It's important that you meet the man behind it all." Brock pushed open the door into an empty conference room. Alina had been expecting something terrifying, but the experience had proven to be relatively anticlimactic. "He's just coming back now, said he'll meet us here."

As if Brock had willed it to do so, a door on the other side of the room opened and an older man stepped through. He thanked someone that was out of Alina's line of sight and turned to face her. His footfalls were hardly audible as he approached the table in the middle of the room and perched himself on the edge, a crooked smile on his face.

"You must be Miss Alina Malveaux," he said. His voice was smooth and slow, almost hypnotizing. Alina stepped forward and offered a hand. He took it and pulled her in closer, shook it firmly, and his smile widened. "Alexander Pierce."

Alina nodded. Brock stepped up beside her and took a seat on the table next to Alexander.

The two were quite contrasted. Brock, with his tight, black clothing, dark eyes, tan skin, and toned body. Alexander, an older man, dressed in a three-piece suit, with eyes that were welcoming in a way that Alina found eerie. He seemed like someone she should be afraid of, but it hadn't quite settled in the way that it had with Brock.

"I'm sure you have a lot of questions. I'm sorry that Rumlow hasn't been able to answer them adequately, but that was at my request. We wanted to be sure you could be trusted and relied upon."

_Relied upon._

Alina shook her head. "I... I didn't really sign up to be relied upon or trusted. I didn't really sign up for anything. I thought this was some sort of rehab—"

"And that it is," Alexander said, his voice just a tad tighter. "We rehabilitate all sorts of lost and abandoned individuals. Especially those that S.H.I.E.L.D. has failed to care for. You, Alina, are incredibly important to us."

"That's flattering," Alina said. "I'd really like it if you could cut it with being all cryptic and weird. I thought I'd gotten used to it, but it's really starting to freak me out. Who are you? Who is this us that both of you keep mentioning?"

Alexander chuckled and dropped his eyes from Alina's for the first time since he'd entered the room. Brock was silent, which was something Alina seldom experienced.

"Forgive me for being cryptic. I've only been concerned that given your connection to S.H.I.E.LD., you may have some preconceived, cloudy notions about what exactly we're doing here." With a broad gesture, Alexander raised his eyes again and smiled at her. It felt genuine. "This, Miss Malveaux, is HYDRA."

He kept talking, saying more about her training, about rehabilitation and welcoming, but Alina's mind was spiraling too quickly to pick up on much more than that.

_HYDRA._

She hadn't learned much about it, but she knew enough to feel sick. She knew enough for every muscle in her body to be screaming at her to run. She'd been young when her parents died in the Battle of New York, but not too young to have heard the horror stories of HYDRA. Those stories dated back to World War II. They were the stories that Captain America comics were based off from. Comic book villains. Human experimentation, torture, Nazis.

"That's... not possible." Alina choked out the words, but they sounded pathetic, even to her own ears. "HYDRA isn't... it hasn't been..."

"Why don't you sit down, darling?" Alexander said, reaching a hand out for Alina's shoulder. She flinched away from his touch but took the seat he'd offered her. "I know it can be a lot to take in, but I want you to understand that the things S.H.I.E.L.D. has taught its children about us are not the truth. Not the whole truth."

"So which part is the truth?" Alina looked down at her hands, still wrapped from her training. She wanted to be back in the room with the punching bag, thinking of nothing but the combat lessons she'd had earlier in the week. "The Nazis? The torture?"

"It's more complicated than that," Brock said. His voice was much sharper, more impatient. "If you'd just listen, you'd understand."

_He's been waiting for this. This is the catch and it's worse than I ever could have imagined._

"Brock is correct, it is more complicated than you may believe now. You must understand that HYDRA has a long history, one that is entangled with certain... practices that we no longer engage in." Alexander slid off the table and knelt in front of Alina. She half-expected his breath to reek of death or alcohol or halitosis, but he didn't smell like anything at all. He was sterile. "This is confusing, and you may take all the time you need to process this information. However, you must know that you are incredibly important to us."

"Why?" Alina found it in herself to meet his eyes. "Why me?"

"I told you," Alexander said with a light-hearted laugh. "We take in abandoned people. You've been abandoned and abused by S.H.I.E.L.D., and we want to give you a chance at redemption."

"Redemption," she said. "You mean taking them down. Collapsing them from the inside out."

Something sparkled in Alexander's eyes. Pride? Excitement? He didn't seem the type to feel either.

"Precisely," he said. "Our cause is one of glory and redemption. We have strategically and carefully brought the world back and forth from her tipping point. Our time has nearly come to push it over the ledge. And do you know who will be at the bottom to catch her?"

Alina found herself unable to speak. She felt suffocated by the presence of the two men surrounding her. The arrangement no longer felt optional or escapable. She realized with startling clarity that it had never been an optional arrangement.

"It will be us, Alina. We will be there to stabilize her again, build from the ground up and give the world the freedom she deserves."

She tried to take a breath, but it caught in her throat the moment Brock laid a firm hand on her shoulder.

"You have to understand, Alina," he said slowly. "You're still free to go after this. At any time, you're free to go. But you have to understand the risk we've taken to inform you about our cause and our plans."

"I do," she said. "I do understand."

Alexander's face broke out into a smile that chilled Alina deeply. He had said the words that she was still "free to go," but that fact seemed highly conditional and unlikely. Although he was smiling, it seemed as if Alexander was expecting more from her. An answer. He wanted her to tell them that she was with them. The thought of saying it burned her throat and made her stomach churn. How could she do that? How could she join them? After all the hard work she had seen her parents put in, after the friends she had made as a child of S.H.I.E.L.D., though most of them had turned out to be temporary.

If HYDRA was some kind of splinter off from S.H.I.E.L.D., maybe they could be temporary, too. Perhaps Alina would be released eventually, truly free to go when it finally, inevitably, collapsed. 

"If you can prove to me that you're not what they told me you are, and I'll stand by you." She cast a hard look a Brock. "First sign of Neo-Nazis, I'm out."

Brock looked as if he wanted to lunge at her, but Alexander clapped down a heavy hand on the younger man's shoulder before he got the chance to express the anger that Alina saw boiling beneath the surface.

"I'm so glad to hear that, Miss Malveaux. Tomorrow will mark the beginning of your training, so that you may become one of our most valuable assets as quickly as possible." Alexander threw a glance at Brock and squeezed down on his shoulder. "Agent Rumlow will spearhead your training. He's an expert in the field of double-agents, which of course could not be a more appropriate role for someone with your history. However, I don't want to overwhelm you any further. I'll allow Rumlow here to escort you back—"

"I can find my way," Alina said. She cleared her throat and took a step back, forced a smile. "I'm just... This is—like you've said—a lot to process. I know the way we came. I'd like to walk back alone, if that's alright."

"Of course," Brock said, his voice tight. "I think that's perfectly fair, given all the information you've just received."

"Thank you," Alina said with a painful smile. "I'll see you tomorrow then. For training."

"You will."

She nodded at the two of them and muttered a "good night" under her breath as a force of habit. She knew there would be nothing "good" about the night to follow. Sure enough, she spent it lying on her back, sweating and fighting off tears.

The fear and uncertainty inside her were colder and deeper than anything she had felt in a new foster home. Despite the assurances that Alexander Pierce had offered her, something about the place she'd been sleeping felt evil, cold, and unforgiving. 


	5. mockery

Alina had learned to trust her instincts and feelings, no matter how irrational they seemed on a surface level. When she woke up the morning after she’d met Alexander Pierce, that lesson was further cemented. Brock Rumlow had slammed the heavy door of her room open and thrown a pair of training clothes at her.

The weeks that followed were much different than the first few she had spent with the people she now knew as HYDRA. She began to recognize steely glances that she never had before. Instead of politely brushing past agents in the halls, tall men would bump shoulders with her without a second glance, let alone an apology. When she wasn’t being dropped on her back or thrown to the ground, Alina spent her time wrapping, icing, and relocating her joints.

It had been two months since her first encounter with Alexander Pierce. She hadn’t seen him again, and she began to wish for his warmth and kindness, even it was eerie and contrived.

Her instincts that first night had been accurate. HYDRA felt exactly the way she thought it would—unforgiving, cold, and mindless. The agents that she was pitted against were taller, more muscular women that easily broke her down and defeated her in their training scenarios. Any attempt to start a conversation with them was met with empty or dismissive replies.

Instead, she resorted to eavesdropping. She’d heard whispers of some kind of weapon that HYDRA had in its grasp, something world-ending, at least for those who opposed them. It wasn’t that surprised or disturbed her. When Pierce had spoken of world domination and the collapse of S.H.I.E.L.D., Alina had been wise enough to extrapolate the rest. They had to have more than just double-agents up their sleeves.

No, the thing that chilled her was the whispers about whispers that had surely traveled through hundreds of agents before it met her ears. She’d everything from nuclear weapons to robots to mind control. All of it was surreal, bizarre, and unbelievable. It was exactly the brand of surrealism she had lived up until that point, so who was she to deny any of those claims?

Nevertheless, it terrified her.

Every night, Brock’s promise of her freedom washed over her, and every night she almost tested it. Something always stopped that train of thought. Despite the pain and the injuries and the downright humiliation, something deep and untapped inside of her couldn’t stop. Something that burned hotter than the fear of failure coursed through her, and whatever it was made her stay.

“Exhausting your mind and body isn’t going to help you.”

It was another late night, not unlike the one on which she’d been introduced to Pierce. Again, it was Brock’s silhouette in the doorway. At the very least, Alina had learned how to keep swinging while Brock hurled verbal abuse her way.

“Maybe,” she said through grit teeth. She doubled down on her punches, even though her legs were jelly and her double-wrapped knuckles were numb. “But clearly failure isn’t something I get to just sleep off, so here I am.”

Brock crossed the room and stood on the other side of the punching bag. Alina delivered a forceful kick, but he didn’t even flinch, only rocked back on his heels as if he was shifting his weight absently.

“Is there something you want, or did you just come down here to distract me?” Alina dropped her hands to her sides and stepped so she could see him around the sandbag. “Either way, I’d like it if you left me alone.”

“You should hardly find me distracting at this point in your training, Malveaux.” Brock took two steps forward and then lunged at her, a move that she was more than accustomed to. “How many times do I have to tell you this? You’re holding yourself back.”

Alina squared off her stance, raised her exhausted arms, and forced her throbbing hands into fists.

“How many times do I have to tell you that the only thing holding me back is the cult energy in this place?”

Brock lunged again and followed through with a swing that Alina blocked with relative ease. She grabbed his right wrist and twisted it behind his back, a position that he didn’t stay in for very long at all. They danced across the training mat and traded swings for blocks until Brock visibly frustrated and stepped back. He dropped his hands.

“That’s the kind of asinine thinking that holds you back. If you don’t want to be here, you’re free to—”

“Free to go?” Alina threw up her hands and wiped an arm across her dripping forehead. “Free to go so someone can hunt me down and kill me because I know too much? I’d—”

He charged forward again. Though Alina was caught off guard, she was able to dodge his first two swings, but as she turned to face him again, Brock delivered a swift blow to her abdomen that knocked the wind out of her and landed her on her knees.

“Don’t let your guard down,” he said. The words seemed to come from the back of his throat.

Alina looked up at him to fire back or swing out a leg to collapse one of his knees. Before she could, he kicked her in the ribs and followed through with his knee to ensure she landed on her back. With his boot planted firmly in her left shoulder, he grimaced down at her.

“Don’t,” he said. He spat in her face. “Let your guard down.”

Alina stared up at him and bit down on the inside of her cheek until she broke the skin. Her eyes welled up at the pain of his boot treads in her injured shoulder, but she couldn’t let him see it.

“Rumlow.”

A woman’s voice broke his concentration long enough for Alina to sweep his legs out from under him and roll out of his landing zone as he stumbled to keep himself on his feet. She landed on her feet, hands up and ready to swing when he came at her again. Despite her preparation, he seemed to be genuinely distracted, his attention fully focused on the slender woman who had entered the room.

Alina wasn’t sure she’d seen her around, and she’d definitely never trained or fought with her. She would have remembered the cold, brown eyes that scanned over her body before they drifted back to Rumlow.

“This is the newest one?”

He nodded, unmoving, and gestured at Alina. “Still trying to break her. Just a little too… eager to talk back.”

“Well, some of us are like that, aren’t we?” She threw a knowing glance at Brock, but his face remained hard and blank. The woman brushed past him like a winter breeze and met Alina at the other end of the room. “Malveaux, right?”

She nodded silently, still ready to throw a punch or roll out from under an unexpected swing. Her cheek was still bleeding and she wanted nothing more than to spit it out, but something made her feel as though silence was better in the presence of this woman.

“Savannah King. I don’t think we’ve met.”

“We haven’t.”

“At ease, soldier,” Savannah said with a chuckle and a glance back at Brock. “Training’s over for the day. It’s 4 am.”

“Training’s never over.”

The words left Brock and Alina’s lips at the same moment, which elicited a smirk from Savannah and an ugly grimace from Brock.

“Looks like you’ve learned from the best.”

Alina flinched when Savannah moved closer to her.

“Relax. I mean it, no more training for tonight,” Savannah said. She reached out and manually lowered Alina’s hands from their tense, defensive position. “Rumlow, you’re not training this girl, you’re traumatizing her.”

“There has never been a difference before. I don’t see why we’d start making exceptions now.” With another venomous glance toward Alina, Brock scoffed and headed for the door. “You can handle her from now on if you’re so concerned.”

Savannah turned to face Alina again once Brock had left the room. She lifted her hands again and slowly unwrapped them, her brow furrowed at the state of her bruised knuckles.

“I know he’ll make you feel like it is, but it’s actually not any better to overwork yourself than it is to be lazy,” she said. “What’s going on with the shoulder?”

Alina glanced to her left and shrugged, hesitant to give any more information than she needed to. Savannah nodded and chuckled.

“He trained me, too, practically raised me,” she said with a glance toward the door. “He wouldn’t have targeted it if there wasn’t something going on.”

“Dislocated it last week,” Alina said and pulled her hands away from Savannah. She tore off the rest of the gauze and tape wrapped around her hands and threw it on the ground. “Fell on it. Didn’t see the throw coming.”

Savannah started to pace and continuously nod, her eyes scanning over Alina like she was preparing to buy an animal at auction. In a way, she probably was. Alina had a feeling that Savannah King would be her last chance at HYDRA before Brock Rumlow flat out murdered or seriously incapacitated her. She didn’t necessarily have conclusive evidence that told her she should feel that way, but his recent treatment of her had given her enough reason to.

“Take the week off,” Savannah said. Something about it sounded conclusive, and that was reinforced by the way she turned on her heel and head toward the door. “I’ll see you next week after you’ve healed up some more. Steer clear of Rumlow, and don’t let him get to you.”

Alina followed her into the hallway, awestruck.

“With all due respect, Agent King—”

“You can just call me Savannah,” she said. Her pace didn’t slow. “I don’t have an inferiority complex the way Brock does.”

“Okay… well, Savannah,” Alina stumbled over her words and crossed her arms. “Can I at least ask why you’re doing this?”

Savannah turned, but not enough to make eye contact. She was close enough that Alina could tell a smirk painted her thin, pink lips.

“You can go ahead and ask, but I’m afraid I can’t answer quite yet.”

Her answer was all-too-similar to the ones she’d heard from her parents and from S.H.I.E.L.D. for most of her life. Savannah’s condescending tone sparked the aggravation that Brock always toyed with. Even still, something about it felt different.

Alina showered that night for longer than she usually did, took the time to scrub the grime from beneath her nails and clean her brush burns thoroughly. She even brushed her hair and readjusted her pillows before she got settled into bed. Along with the aggravation and fear, Savannah’s orders to take the week off had ignited the closest thing to trust that Alina was capable of feeling.

She had no reason to trust Savannah King. The way she’d criticized Brock or rescued Alina from having her shoulder further damaged by his boot was not enough to earn her trust.

And yet.

—

“As much as I hate to tell you this, he’s right.”

Alina dodged a swing from Savannah, spun, and swept her feet out from under her. Savannah feigned a fall and jumped back into a defensive stance. They hadn’t spoken of Brock in nearly two weeks and it felt like she hadn’t seen him in even longer. Alina preferred to keep it that way. However, Savannah clearly wasn’t having it.

“His methods can be cruel, but he’s right about some things,” she said. She broke and crossed the room to wipe herself down and drink some water. “In terms of the real world, training really never is over. You can never think you’re at the top of your game, because that’s how you get knocked down to the bottom. Especially here. You’ve learned what a little rest can do for someone, but you have to be careful to maintain the balance. Overworking your body leaves you just as vulnerable as underworking it.”

“Yeah,” Alina said absently. She joined Savannah at their gym bags and took up her own water bottle. “I get that he’s right, it just seems—”

The plastic had hardly touched Alina’s lips before the bottle was at her feet and she was lying face-down in a puddle of water with her left arm twisted behind her back. Savannah pressed down on her spine with a knee as she leaned down to the level of her ear.

“ _ Don’t _ let your guard down,” she said. “That’s the first thing you’re supposed to learn here. If you keep leaving yourself open—”

“I thought—” Alina grunted and tried to roll out of Savannah’s grip, but she only tightened, like a python. “I thought… we were on… a water break.”

“No,” Savannah said and leaned forward further, driving the point of her knee deeper into Alina’s back. “ _ I  _ was on a water break.”

Alina bit down the cry that threatened to rise in the back of her throat. Savannah’s hand were rough, scarred, and more importantly, ridiculously strong. She knew there’d be purple fingerprints on her wrist by the day’s end.

“You don’t let your guard down. Not for Rumlow, not for the agent that you’re sparring with, not for anyone. Clear?”

“Crystal,” Alina said through grit teeth. She couldn’t help the gasp that left her lips when Savannah’s weight came off her.

“Get up. Get some water.”

Alina rose slowly and eyed Savannah.

“Is this a test?”

“No,” she said. “You’re improving. You deserve water.”

Alina kept her eyes locked on Savannah’s body while she reached for her half-spilled bottle at her feet.

“Yeah. Things change pretty quickly when you’re being taught by someone with your… interest in mind.” She finished the water bottle and threw it on the ground. “I wouldn’t necessarily say my _ best _ interest, but…”

Savannah chuckled and took a seat next to her gym bag.

“All Brock knows—all he’s interested in—is brute force and strength. He’s fast, sure, a skilled fighter, but his strength is what gets him by. That’s not the case for every agent,” Savannah said. She gave Alina a once-over and chuckled again. “I got lucky. He and I are pretty similar. You, on the other hand…”

Alina rolled her eyes and turned away. She returned to the punching bag across the room and went back to throwing punches, though her eyes stayed on Savannah. The first night they’d met, Savannah had been wearing all-black, skin-tight clothing that hid her skin and not much else. Since then, Alina had seen her in shorts, t-shirts, and other articles of clothing that revealed the knotty, pink and white scars that covered the olive-skinned agent’s body.

“I’m surprised you haven’t asked yet, to be honest,” Savannah said. “Most people just come right out and ask if they don’t already know.”

“I figured it’s one of those things I’d learn with time,” Alina said. She dropped her hands and paced the length of the wall opposite Savannah. “Unless you’re waiting for me to ask how you got them.”

Savannah raised her eyes and smirked. It wasn’t a happy expression. There was something dark beneath it, something Alina couldn’t pin down.

“Accident. Big fire, ate up the whole house. Only survivor.” She glanced around the room as if she was remembering the days when she was Alina’s shoes. Alina had no concept of how long ago that might have been. She didn’t know anything about Savannah King, except that she seemed to have some sort of power over Brock Rumlow that no one else did. “HYDRA pulled me out of the hospital, nursed me back to health, here I am.”

“How old were you?”

“Thirteen.”

Alina stopped her pacing and looked back at the woman sitting across the room from her. She couldn’t have been older than twenty-three or twenty-four, but she definitely wasn’t thirteen. Somehow, Alina had expected an age closer to her own. Seventeen, eighteen, maybe.

“So you’ve been…”

“Six years,” she said. “Don’t look so pale. I wanted it. Wanted this. I still do. I wouldn’t be here, fixing you, if I didn’t.”

_ Fixing me. _

“Yeah,” Alina said. She’d run out of words. She suddenly felt sick, helpless, more trapped than she had in weeks. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense.”

_ Six years. _

“It’s kind of what they use me for around here,” Savannah said. Alina forced herself back into the present moment as she approached. “Fixing things. One thing in particular, one person. So consider yourself an exception to most of my rules, Malveaux.”

“I… uh…” Alina blinked a few times and took half a step back. She wasn’t looking forward to being taught the lesson about letting her guard down again while she was trying to process the information she’d just received. “Thank you, I think? But what do you mean…”

“There’s an agent here,” Savannah said. She was the one pacing now, though at a much more languid pace than Alina had been. “Perhaps you’ve heard rumors of our Asset.”

Alina’s heart jumped into her throat. She was disoriented and still trying to conceal her signs of weakness from being thrown to the ground unexpectedly moment before. Still trying to process that Savannah had been there for years and that it was entirely possible that Alina would end up the same way. Now she was asking about the Asset, the weapon, referring to it as a human, an agent.

“I… Yeah… I think—”

“I’m sure you have,” Savannah continued without stopping to make sure Alina wasn’t on the edge of fainting. “Anyway, this Asset is a highly valuable agent named Barnes, although you’d be highly advised against calling him by that name. I’m not really one to listen to advisories. You don’t need to know much more than that now. Barnes is really quite the novelty. A prized possession, I guess you could say. Alexander Pierce seems to think he holds control over—Well, that’s hardly the point.”

“What is, exactly…” Alina turned slowly to face Savannah, who had begun to pace uncomfortably close to her.

“My point, Malveaux, is that I am a busy woman, one with much bigger concerns than your dislocated joints and failure to land a punch,” she said before she turned decisively on her heel, a cold smile painted on her face. “Despite your complete lack of physical competence, I think that you will be an equally important asset. So here we are.”

“Here we are,” Alina said. She cleared her throat and crossed her arms. “What’s next?”

Savannah’s lips twitched into something that resembled a more genuine smile.

“I’m so glad you asked, Agent Malveaux.” She turned, headed for the door, and gestured for Alina to follow. “Grab your stuff. Next, we prep you for initiation.”

Alina followed hesitantly, her hands wrung tightly together. She had been relatively prepared for an initiation process. For some reason, she’d been naive enough to think that she would be gone before it came to that.

“And what does that entail, exactly?”

“Relax,” Savannah said. She threw Alina a smirk as she fell into step. “It’s mostly mental preparation at this point. Brock is going to throw something at you that you’re not ready for. That’s undeniable. I’m thinking it’ll be an agent you haven’t trained with before. Probably someone bigger than you, stronger. All you can do is rely on the speed work that we’ve been drilling. Stay low, remember—”

“Fight like a girl,” Alina said before Savannah could get there. They’d talked about every day since Savannah had taken up her training. “Use their weight and size against them. Stay fast and two steps ahead.”

“Fast learner,” Savannah said. Alina had expected traces of pride in her voice, but the words were empty and fell flat. “Like I said. I fix things.”

She stopped and turned to face her apprentice. They were standing in front of Alina’s bedroom door.

“We’ll pick back up tomorrow. Rest up.”

“I thought we were prepping,” Alina said with a nervous chuckle. “That was my prep?”

“That was your prep.” Savannah turned her back and headed back down the hallway. “Rest up. Same time tomorrow.” 

  
  
  
  



	6. menace

Alina did as she was advised and rested up for most of the next day. She took it slow, ate well, and only did minimal training in the hours leading up to her session with Savannah. The corridors, cafeteria, and training spaces seemed to be significantly lacking in human life, but she tried not to think about and took advantage of the privacy she wasn’t usually granted. Though, the people that were around seemed to stare at her longer than usual, some with malice or contempt in their gaze, others with blank expressions. 

 

She arrived early to the training room that she and Savannah had been using regularly, strung up a punching bag, and started in on her stretches. Thoughts of “initiation” plagued her mind and it was all she could do to stop herself from bombarding Savannah with questions about it when she finally joined her. 

 

“You’re late,” Alina said. “Hot date?” 

 

“Something like that,” Savannah said. 

 

There was an edge to her voice that gave Alina pause. She stopped mid-stretch and turned her attention from Savannah to the door she had just entered. Brock stood there, arms crossed and smirking. There was a line of agents behind him. Alina’s stomach pitched and her eyes darted back to Savannah, who had turned her back and begun to pace. 

 

“What is this?” Alina took a few steps closer to the door and stopped when Brock stepped forward. Something in her knew exactly what it was, but she refused to panic until it was confirmed.“We have an audience today?”

 

“Next level of training,” Brock said. He was too enthusiastic for Alina’s comfort. “One-on-one, hand-to-hand combat. Until I call it.”

 

Alina tilted her head and tried to match Brock’s level of confidence, though she didn’t think there was enough arrogance in the world for her to ever accomplish such a feat. 

 

“Seems fair enough,” Alina said. She cast a glance toward Savannah, who was still acting as if the present conversation wasn’t happening. She only paced, silent and strangely pensive. 

 

“What’s the catch?”

 

“No catch,” Brock said. He stepped aside and a tall, dirty blond man took a stand beside him. “Just good, old combat on my terms.” 

 

“So that’s the catch,” Alina snorted. “You want to watch me fail to an agent I’ve never trained with—”

 

“You won’t have trained with any of the enemies you have to face in the field,” Savannah said. She crossed the room and brushed Brock and the blond man aside so she could get to the doorway, where she posted up with her arms crossed. “This is standard procedure, Malveaux.” 

 

Realization flooded over Alina the same way the scourge of agents entered the room behind Brock and circled up around the three agents—too quickly. It was unexpected, humiliating, unfair, cult-like. Alina tried to wrap her head around as the agent in front of her stripped off his t-shirt and took a defensive stance, setting his predatory gaze on her. 

 

Initiation.

 

The fight would continue until Brock called it. Alina knew what that really meant, and judging by the distance Savannah was keeping from the action, so did she. It wouldn’t be over until someone was dead or on the brink. 

 

The first blow came down hard on her nose, while her hands were still dropped at her sides. Stars filled her vision and it wasn’t until he’d landed three or four more punches that she could bring herself back into the fight. She spat blood and managed to dodge and roll her way out of a few more punches, but she knew that fleeing wouldn’t be how she got out. 

 

“C’mon, sweetheart. Don’t run away. If you just let me get this over with real quick—” 

 

Alina screamed and kicked out him. Her foot landed in his rib cage, which elicited a cry of pain that stirred up something in the pit of her stomach she hadn’t truly felt before. He grabbed her ankle and used it as leverage to knock her on her back. Cheers erupted from the crowd that surrounded them. No one was betting on her to win. She looked to Savannah for a split second. She was silent. 

 

Alina gasped for breath and rolled out of the agent’s reach before he had the chance to pin her down. She was free on her feet for mere moments before he had grabbed her wrist, twisted it, and pulled her back to him. 

 

She ducked out of the way of his next punch and landed a handful to his abdomen. It didn’t seem to slow him down or throw him off in the slightest. Instead, he brought down his elbow on the back of her head and everything went black. 

 

Her ears rung at a piercing volume, and as she came to again, she realized it was the sound of pandemonium. The agents that surrounded them were shouting—no, chanting—the name “Turner.” A myriad of colors swam before her eyes as she forced them open. She realized with startling clarity that she was in the air. Over his shoulder. He was parading her around like a trophy. 

 

A shock of pain electrified her body as she tried to turn her head, search for any pair of sympathetic eyes. There weren’t any. Brock Rumlow stood with his arms crossed, smirking. 

 

Silent. 

 

That silence rekindled the feeling in the pit of Alina’s stomach and she began to squirm. The agent holding her—Turner, apparently—shifted his arms around her and moved as if he was going to throw her down from his shoulder. She tried to clear her head, remember the things that she’d been drilling for weeks. 

 

_ Speed. Use their weight against them. _

 

Alina moved her right arm so that his Adam’s apple rested in the crook of her elbow and used it for leverage to pull her body over and around his shoulder. She wrapped her legs around his waist before her feet touched the ground, secured her arm around his throat, and used the leverage to pull him down backward. The crowd was in an uproar again, but their cacophony of cheers soon faded into muffled background noise to Alina’s ears. 

 

She scrambled into a crouch. Turner rolled onto one side, gripping his throat with one hand as he attempted to push himself up with the other. Alina forced back the tears that choked her and kicked out her foot. It swept his arm out from under him. She followed through with a kick to his face, and as she rose to her feet, twisted the fingers of his right hand beneath her boot. 

 

He let out a cry that silenced the room, but the sound of the people around her was the least of Alina’s concerns. She collapsed onto Turner’s chest, dug her knee into the end of his sternum, and raised her fist. She was prepared to come down on his face as many times as it took to erase the feeling of her unconscious body being paraded around the ring. 

 

“MALVEAUX! ENOUGH!”

 

Alina slowly came back to herself. Savannah was standing over her, a firm hand planted in the middle of her chest. 

 

“Enough,” she repeated. “It’s done. It’s done.”

 

“N-no… I have to—” Alina peered around Savannah, who pushed back against the motion, to see Turner still lying on his back. He was breathing heavily. Three agents surrounded him while Brock Rumlow watched. “I have to—”

 

“It’s done,” Savannah said. “Hey. Eyes up here. You’re done. It’s done.” 

 

Alina raised her gaze, and only then did she realize how hard she was trembling. There was blood smeared across Savannah’s cheek and down her neck in the shape of a desperate, grasping handprint. She looked down at herself. Both hands were coated in blood. It stained the front of her, and she could feel it running from her mouth and nose. 

 

She met Savannah’s dark eyes and failed to find a single thing to say. 

 

“You’re ready to meet the Asset.” She surveyed the girl in front of her and shook her head. “But not looking like that. Let’s go. Clean up time.”

The crowd of agents parted for the two of them. Savannah practically had to carry Alina from the room while she tried to turn back to check on Turner. 

 

“The first rule of one-on-ones is you don’t look back,” Savannah said. Her voice was dry as ever. It was beginning to sink in just how “standard” the “procedure” was. “You do what you have to do in this job and you don’t look back.” 

 

“I didn’t sign up for a  _ job _ !” Alina cried. She pulled away from Savannah and stumbled backward. “I didn’t—This isn’t what I wanted. How is this better? How is this—”

 

“Enough,” Savannah said. “It doesn’t matter what you thought you were getting into. You’re here now, and you’re about to be rewarded with an opportunity that every other low-level dreams about. So would you like to clean up and meet the Asset? Or would you rather go back into that room and let Hudson Turner and Brock Rumlow finish you?”  

 

“I want to go home!” Alina couldn’t help the words from spilling out. The tears she’d been holding back began to spill, too. “This is horrible! It’s cruel!”

 

“Maybe it is,” Savannah said. She stepped up to Alina and grabbed her chin, forced her eye contact. “But this is home now. You’re a HYDRA agent now. Start fucking acting like it, or things worse than Hudson Turner will be heading your way.”

 

Alina wanted nothing more than to wash the blood off from her body and sleep until the end of time. However, the plan for the rest of the night that Savannah had in mind was very different. She was hardly allowed a shower. Savannah stood in the locker room with her to ensure she was timely and escorted her back to her room to change. 

 

By the time they’d set off down a corridor Alina had never been down before, the trembling had subsided. She’d lost track of the direction they were headed. All she could think about was what she had done to Hudson Turner. What he might do to her in return. The fact that Savannah had called her a HYDRA agent. 

 

“Protocol,” Savannah said. A reinforced steel door stood in front of them. She looked entirely unenthusiastic about the information she was about to deliver.“You stay at least twenty feet back. You don't speak. If, for some reason, you do speak, you do not speak to the Asset. 

 

Lucky for you, in this situation, it’d be very difficult for you to do so. Understood?”

 

“No,” Alina said. Her head spun. Most of her body still throbbed. “I don’t understand any of this. What do you mean, in this situation? What—”

 

“In order for the Asset to operate at top efficiency, Pierce conducts something he calls ‘wipes.’ Like rebooting a computer, except not at all.” Savannah pressed a finger to her ear and muttered a string of words too quickly for Alina to pick up on. “You don’t need to understand it. Just know that you’re witnessing history, and it’s a privilege that very few are granted.”

 

The door in front of them clicked multiple times. Savannah pushed it open with some effort and the pair stepped through together into a sterile, brightly lit room full of agents in white lab coats. Alina shivered and shoved her bruised hands into the pockets of her jeans. 

 

“What the hell…”

 

As Alina trailed behind Savannah, chilled when a group of agents parted for them. She recognized Alexander Pierce, even from the back. He was standing with his hands folded behind his back in front of a long-haired man in a metal chair. Pierce shifted his weight and Alina nearly jumped when she saw the device that replaced the man’s left arm. It was a bright, shining bionic limb, secured tightly in restraints. As she and Savannah drew closer, she realized that the man’s right arm and both of his legs were restrained, too. 

 

Alina began to shake again. It was hard to separate whether or not it was from the temperature change or the sinking feeling that something wrong was happening in that sterile space. 

 

“They haven’t wiped him in a while,” Savannah said. Her voice was weighted down with something that Alina would have called admiration if she had been speaking to any other person. “He’s been well-behaved for the most part. Sometimes they have to wipe him to stabilize him, but that’s no fun. Pay attention."

 

“What is Pierce saying?” 

 

“He’s giving an introduction. Thinks you have the potential to be useful on the handling team.”

 

Savannah’s attention was divided when Alexander turned to face them. His eyes skipped over all the other agents, trained only on her. 

 

“Agent King.”

 

She stepped forward without hesitation. Alina’s stomach flipped as she met the eyes of the stone-faced man before her. Alexander laid a hand on Savannah’s lower back and leaned in close. A cold smile crept onto her thin, pink lips. Alina jumped when Alexander turned to address her.

 

“Agent Malveaux. Always a pleasure,” he said. “Congratulations on your victory today. I expect you’ve been briefed?”

 

Alina nodded absentmindedly. The last thing she wanted to think about was Hudson Turner and her “victory.” She briefly wondered how Pierce had even learned of the fight, but the thought was quashed by all the other things that demanded her attention.

 

“Excellent. We’ll begin, then.” 

 

The moments that followed were ones that Alina was positive would be burned into her mind for the rest of her life. The Asset, as she knew him, was staring intently at her. There wasn’t much behind his gaze, which was more unsettling than the things she saw beneath Brock or Savannah’s eyes. 

 

A team of agents stepped forward, secured a headpiece on the man, placed a piece of rubber between his teeth. He seemed compliant, though something about his movements deeply unsettled Alina. 

 

She yelped at the sound of a powerful machine powering up. Her cry was lost in the sound of the Asset’s screams as they filled the room. He fought against his restraints, his entire body convulsing as electricity flowed through him. 

 

Minutes passed. Not one agent around her seemed to have a problem with the scene before them. Standard procedure.

 

All at once, the room was silent again. Alina raised a hand to her mouth and realized that there were tears on her face. She scrubbed them away quickly and kept her eyes on the Asset. 

 

“Why?” Alina whispered almost without realizing. She swayed on her feet. “Why do you do this? What’s the  _ point _ ?”

 

“It makes him compliant,” Pierce said. “Easy to mold. He’s very receptive to orders and carries them out flawlessly in this state. Once a task is complete, he is returned to cryo-sleep.”

 

“He… he seemed perfectly compliant before. I don’t—”

 

“You don’t have to understand now,” Savannah said. “Just know that Director Pierce has crafted our most flawless weapon. Of course, with a bit of help.”

 

“Yes,” Pierce said, reluctance heavy in his tone. “Indeed, Agent King has been of great help in our experiments.”

 

“What…”

 

The question died in Alina’s throat. It was too much. Before she was sure what was happening, Savannah was escorting her back to her living space. After several minutes of empty corridors and heavy silence, Alina worked up her nerve to speak.

 

“He’s a prisoner.”

 

“No,” Savannah said. The response seemed automatic as if Alina was far from being the first or last person to ask. “I know it may look like that, but Barnes was a fanatical agent long before he was transformed into the Soldier. The Asset.”

 

Something about Savannah’s lack of eye contact and shifting weight told her that there wasn’t something entirely true about her statements. However, there wasn’t much Alina could do about it. Not after the fight, not after all she’d seen. 

 

“Goodnight, Agent King,” she said. “Same time tomorrow?”

 

Savannah met her eyes for a brief moment. Something that bordered on pity swam behind her gaze. 

 

“No,” Savannah said. Her voice was as straightforward as it had always been, and the emotion Alina thought she’d seen in her dark eyes evaporated. “I’ll be occupied with the Asset for the next several days. You can take that time to recover from your initiation. I’ll also collect you for another wipe sometime next week and let Director Pierce evaluate whether or not he wants you on the handling team. He may get more use out of you as a S.H.I.E.L.D. mole. Of course, you can also take that time to consider which you’d prefer.” 

 

Alina nodded slowly and leaned heavily on the doorknob of her room. Her immediate thought was that preferred neither, but she also recognized that she had passed the point of no return. It was all she could do to consider how to do the closest thing to what she wanted. She wanted to go home, whatever that meant. Maybe it meant S.H.I.E.L.D., so maybe that meant that double-agent work suited her. 

 

“I’ll think about it,” she said. “Goodnight, Savannah.”

 

“Goodnight, Alina.” 

 

Savannah’s back was already turned as the words left her lips. 

 

Alina pushed open her door and slid into her room quickly. She collapsed against the heavy door frame and covered her face with hands that still burned from the way she had tried to scrub Hudson Turner’s blood off from them. After the day’s events, she didn’t recognize the person whose tears she wiped away, whose hair she pulled at, and whose muffled cries echoed off from the cement walls.

 

She had never been a violent person, not the way that she’d seen since being with HYDRA. Sure, she’d been in fights with other foster children. She’d thrown things at Phil Coulson, at therapists, at nameless S.H.I.E.L.D. agents who offered empty words of condolence. She’d been self-destructive, cut open her own skin more times than she could count. But nothing like the things she had done on that training room floor. 

 

She’d never broken a man’s bones, never heard the air leave his lungs while his Adam’s apple pressed against the inside of her elbow, and felt righteous in doing so. She had never found comfort in pain. It had always just been a part of her life, something she’d come to expect and inflict upon herself so she didn’t have to wait for it. 

 

“It’s a hard pill to swallow, huh?” Alina yelped as the lamp in the corner of the room clicked on. Hudson Turner sat perched on her desk, half of his bruised face washed in the dull, yellow light. “That…  _ change _ you feel once you win your first fight, it’s tough.”

 

“What the hell?” 

 

She’d just managed to get the words out as she worked her way to her feet and wrapped her fingers around the metal doorknob. A blink or two later, he had leaped across the room, slapped her hand away, and pinned her between the cold wall and his heaving, sweating body. 

 

“Not so fast, princess,” he said, driving a knee into her thigh. She bit back a cry of pain. “I just want to get to know you a little better.”

 

“Not interested,” she said. She ducked down, kneed him in the groin, and rolled back toward the door. He groaned in pain, but still managed to catch her wrist and pull her back before she got there. “Let me  _ go _ !”

 

“Shut up,” he growled. “I have a score to settle.”

 

Alina’s breath left her lungs as he wrapped an arm around her waist and threw her down onto the cement floor. Her vision spun and she instinctively put up her legs to stop the full force of Turner coming down on her, but it didn’t do much. He easily swept her feet aside, and she soon found herself, once again, pinned between the cold concrete and a man trembling with rage. 

 

“This is how you settle your scores here, huh? Throw around someone smaller than you? Beat them while they’re unconscious? Ambush them in a dark room after they’ve proven to be a better fighter?”

 

Turned screamed and raised his right arm—now in a cast up to his elbow—and brought it down on her the bridge of her nose, twice.

 

The room went dark. Warmth flooded Alina’s mouth and throat. Awareness came and went, and when it was present, she was only aware of searing pain, unsure of where it was coming from. 

 

At one point, she was aware of the cast pressed against her throat, used to hold her down while his left hand covered her mouth. There was moisture on her face, and it was impossible to know what it was. Tears? Blood? Saliva? 

 

When she finally came around enough to remain conscious for more than a few seconds, she became aware of too many things at once. Her leggings were strewn off to one side, her black t-shirt torn to expose her midriff and the collar stretched over one of her shoulders. She tried to sit up, only to fall back on her elbows, which ached. Her whole body ached. She felt empty, torn, and…  broken, somehow.

 

“Get outta here,” a man’s voice said. He sounded far away and muffled, but authoritarian nonetheless. “She hit you so hard that you’re deaf, too? Get out. Clean yourself up. You ship out to New York first thing.” 

 

The door slammed shut. Alina was terrifyingly aware of a familiar presence in the room. She whimpered and tried to protest to the bare arms that lifted her by her armpits and dragged her limp body to sit up against her bed. 

 

“Morning, sunshine.”

 

“Mm… No…” 

 

She tried to turn her head away from the stern grip on her chin, but she had little control over which way her head was being turned. 

 

“Yeah, you’ll live, unfortunately,” he said. “I was hoping Turner would do a little better this time, but I think the last one freaked him out a little bit. I have to say, you’ve got him scared for his life, Miss Malveaux. Or, rather, Agent.”

 

Alina coughed. It sent a wave of pain across her entire body that radiated outward from her head. Everything felt heavy. Wrong. Foreign. The presence in front of her moved away. There was shuffling, drawers opening, some more words that she couldn’t catch. She was fading. 

 

She jumped awake to a stinging in her head, tried to swat it away. 

 

“Shh, shh, I know sunshine,” the same man’s voice from before spoke soothing words that brought her little comfort. “Almost done. Almost ready for bed.” 

 

She managed to crack open a swollen eyelid. It took much more effort to keep her focus than it had before. The presence was close to her. He leaned over her, pressed something to her forehead. She looked beyond his hand and realized her legs were no longer bare. She wasn’t on the floor. The pain had subsided or otherwise been numbed. 

 

“Yeah, don’t fight it,” he said. “You’re just gonna take a quick nap. When you wake up, you’ll be ready to go. Just a little concussion.”

 

Unconsciousness began to take hold again as he pulled a bloody cloth away from her face.

Alina clawed at the edge of the darkness, sought out any reason to keep a handle on herself, on the drive to stay awake. 

 

Whose voice was it? What had happened? 

 

“You’re a piece of work,” he said. His voice had moved farther away again. “King made a good call, picking you up, throwing you into it. Now if we could just nip that attitude…”

 

_ Rumlow.  _

 

Alina coughed and tried to sit up, tried to push off the heavy tide of drowsiness that was flooding over her. She was only met with a firm hand on her shoulder that pushed her back into the mattress and down, down, down, into a heavy sleep. 

  
  



	7. misinformed

** 2015 **

BARNES, JAMES BUCHANAN

ALIAS: THE WINTER SOLDIER

A.K.A. THE ASSET

Alina ran her thumb over the corner of the thick file folder and took the deepest breath she could manage. Many of HYDRA's files had been seized after its collapse and failure to launch Project Insight. The files regarding the Winter Soldier were widely distributed and easily accessed by all high-ranking S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, of which Alina was considered.

The pain in her side had dulled enough for her to settle into back into bed with the file and her laptop, her vision hazy and eyes itching. She had been working on the transcription for hours. She didn't have many left before she'd have to leave the safety of her hotel, get on a flight to Germany, and lie to Savannah King.

In the years that had passed since her initiation, Alina had proven herself to be a quiet but trustworthy agent. She had half a mind to believe that Savannah forgot about her at times. She was so preoccupied with piecing together subversives to find The Asset that she wasn't nearly as attentive as she should have been. It was the only reason that Alina was sitting in a DC hotel room, technically on medical leave for a gunshot wound, forging a document on the Winter Soldier.

She hadn't made a decision yet about what she was going to do with it. A deep, primal fear that had been driving her toward a strand of increasingly reckless decisions, not least of which had let to a bullet cutting through her abdomen.

Alina herself had been less attentive than she needed to be, but it was in service of what she knew was right.

She shook her head and lifted her shaking hands from the keyboard. She couldn't afford to botch the forgery. Most of all, the Asset couldn't afford it. He had been running for nearly two years. Despite S.H.I.E.L.D.'s best attempts at tracking his movements, the information they had wasn't enough to justify a call for action.

It would be enough for Savannah. Anything that Alina could give her would be enough, so long as it was believable. Between her rage about Brock's return and the failure of the Asset's escape, Savannah would not be hard to convince. No, Savannah was hardly Alina's concern.

Rumlow, on the other hand, had escaped death. He had become a vigilante that lured and murdered hundreds of HYDRA subversives, and he'd returned to Savannah to put an end to her and the splinter groups.

Rumlow, the murderer. Rumlow, the orchestrator. The power-hungry, fanatical, unfeeling monster that had grown to be the root of every single one of her poisonous thoughts.

Savannah King was a non-issue. Brock Rumlow, on the other hand, was a handful. He would take some convincing, especially if he was meeting with them in Germany as a way to orchestrate Savannah's demise. The most important thing was that Savannah had told her he was coming. It gave her a few days of preparation, and all she could do was hope that it had been enough.

Alina saved the last of her progress and closed her laptop. She sighed deeply and ducked the file and her computer back into her backpack. The tips of her fingers brushed another file that she had lifted from the HYDRA servers before they were destroyed. The folder was blank, the information within it splattered with her own name.

Information that exclusively belonged to HYDRA. Photo-copied notes written in what could only be Brock Rumlow's own handwriting. Page after page of progress reports, drug dosages, and treatment notes.

It had been a highly encoded file, buried deep in a server that she doubted S.H.I.E.L.D. even knew existed before the collapse. When all the walls around HYDRA had come tumbling down, her own name was the first thing she'd looked for. She didn't want any reason for S.H.I.E.L.D. to look into her or question why her name would appear in such a database. At first, she hadn't been sure what she would find, if anything.

She spread out a few of the sheets on her lap and stared at the words without reading them. It had been a year and a half. She'd memorized most of them.

Sedatives. Hypnosis. Experimental drugs. Treatment that closely mirrored the types of things that Alina had watched Savannah do to the Asset.

Alina closed her eyes and tried to remember. Anything. Anything that had suggested malpractice while she was hospitalized. Anything that could be considered suspicious during her time in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s foster system. She could only draw up blank thought after blank thought.

Everything had seemed so standard. As standard as things could seem for the child of two lost agents. Agents lost as collateral damage of the Battle of New York, no less. She had always assumed that S.H.I.E.L.D. did its best to take care of a child that they couldn't handle, and that it wasn't enough. That had turned out to be true in the worst possible way.

Alina wiped the tears from her burning cheeks and carefully placed the papers back in her folder. 

When she drifted off to sleep in the hours before arriving in Germany, she dreamt of Rumlow and Savannah.

 

** — **

 

The snow fell silently on the wet pavement as Alina crossed the street. She lifted her eyes to the building looming before her. Just an ordinary hotel. As she stepped inside, unrest twisted her stomach into knots.

There were civilians in the lobby, waiting at the elevator, checking out at the front desk. There wasn't HYDRA paraphernalia adorning every inch of the entrance. No armed guards, no card access, no looming presence of Savannah King. The mundane nature of it all made her shiver.

Savannah and her subversives had been working on securing hotels across Europe as bases of operation for the past several months. The first had been in Berlin, and there were two or three more in Poland and France

Their infiltration worked from the top down. When Alina stepped out of the elevator on the seventh floor to the sight of men carrying conceals weapons pacing the halls, she wasn't surprised. She had come to recognize the way firearms and throwing knives changed the way a person walked and set their shoulders.

One man that she recognized from her early days nodded at her as she passed. He wasn't pacing like the others. Rather, it seemed he was acting as a bodyguard for room 701. Alina wondered absently if it was Rumlow's room.

When she located room 720 and let herself in, she opened the door to Savannah sitting in the middle of the bed, feet stretched out in front of her. Alina crossed the threshold and let the door close behind her.

"Glad to see you in one piece," Savannah said.

"Yeah." Alina let out a short breath and lowered her duffel bag to the floor. "Almost one piece. Still healing."

"Wasn't sure if your story would check out," Savannah said. Her eyes were focused somewhere beyond the blank television screen in front of her. "Thought maybe it was a cover so you could get over here under the radar."

"Nope." Alina made her way to the bed but didn't sit. She pulled up the left side of her shirt to reveal the ugly stitches holding an inch and a half of her abdomen together. "Real bullet hole, fake story. I'm technically on medical leave, but I'm sure S.H.I.E.L.D. won't mind a quick tour around Europe. I deserve it."

Savannah didn't show any sign of being entertained. She briefly examined the wound on Alina's side, but her eyes eventually drifted back to the blank television screen. She was preoccupied, just as expected.

"HYDRA raid" Savannah's voice was absent, but something else lurked beneath the surface. Suspicion. Distrust. "Ironic."

"You know where my loyalty lies," Alina said. The words nearly choked her, but she was sure to keep her voice even. "But I can't just throw up my hands and refuse to participate if you want me to get the information you need."

Savannah nodded, her lower lip trapped between her teeth. She continued nodding as Alina went on.

"I still don't know who shot me. It happened so fast." She shivered, her hand absently running over the fabric of her shirt. The wound was still tender. "It put me out of action faster than I could figure out if it was us or them. They pulled me out and threw me in ICU. As soon as I recovered, they sent me home. Now I'm here."

"As long as you can make yourself useful, it doesn't matter much how you got turned into Swiss cheese," Savannah said. Her dark eyes came to rest on Alina's face, though it still felt like she was looking right through her. Her voice was the same cold monotone, but the words she spoke came as a shock to Alina. "You're right. I know where your loyalty lies. I wish I could say I'm sorry that it almost got you killed, but you volunteered to be a mole."

Savannah pushed herself off the bed and onto her feet in one fluid motion. Alina took her first full breath since she'd entered the room. She had hoped it would combat her dizziness. It didn't.

"You and Rumlow will be interested in the intel I have. It's not much, but it's valuable." Alina moved to the bed and sat down gingerly; her abdomen screamed at her all the way down. "What time do I need to meet you two? I want to lay down for a minute. Jet lag, you know."

"Any intel is valuable regarding the Asset." Savannah was already on her way out of the room. She stopped with her hand on the knob but didn't turn back to face Alina. "Nine. 801."

"Sounds good."

Alina laid down the moment the door closed behind Savannah. She was grateful even for just a few moments of quiet. She felt sick. Though she had wanted to sleep, she wasn't sure she'd be able to. However, she found herself drifting away from consciousness and falling into a deep sleep that she only ever had the luxury of experiencing when she was severely jet lagged.

Hours later, she was jolted awake by a violent knock at the door. She jolted awake, winced, and slowly sat up.

"Coming."

Alina slid off the bed and limped across the room. Whatever pain medicine she'd taken earlier in the day had long-since worn off. She glanced at the clock. It was hardly seven thirty, she wasn't sure why someone would be so vehemently pounding on her door.

"Is there something—"

Brock grunted and shouldered past Alina as soon as she'd unlatched the door. She stood back, dumbfounded, as he crossed the room and pulled the curtains open to reveal the inky night sky.

"Savannah told me nine," she said. She kept the door open for a long moment. An uneasy feeling swept over her. She wasn't prepared to face Rumlow alone. "She also said we're meeting upstairs. Not here."

"I'm well aware. Can't I visit?"

Alina shivered and let the door close, though everything inside her screamed at her to keep it propped open. She crossed her arms and leaned heavily against the door.

"There's nothing I have to share with you that I won't be telling Savannah. If you're hoping for exclusive intel—"

"I'm not." Brock turned to face her then. The look in his eyes turned her blood cold. She wanted to open the door again. Run away.

_He knows. He has to know._

_He can't. He doesn't. Breathe._

Alina gave him a flat smile and blinked once at him before she moved into the bathroom. She couldn't think clearly with the throbbing in her side and the pounding in her chest. As she dug through the medicine bag on the counter, she was acutely aware of Rumlow's presence looming in the doorway.

"I came to see if you're as delusional as King is," he said. She glanced at him in the mirror. He was so ugly and burnt and damaged. She couldn't help but think that at the very least, the outside of him matched the inside now. Ugly, inhuman, monstrous. "To see if you're as stupidly obsessed with Barnes as she is. Or if you're willing to strike a deal and be sensible."

"Striking up a deal with you hardly seems sensible," Alina said. She pulled a fresh gauze pad from her med bag and set it aside. She dug out her bottle of painkillers and tossed two down with a sip of water. She hoped they'd kick in before the conversation ended. "I don't know anything about the problems you and Savannah are having, and I don't want any part of them. I'm here to deliver intel, maybe have some fun, and go back to S.H.I.E.L.D. so I don't blow my cover. I made that clear from the beginning."

She looked up at him in the mirror as she undressed her wound. It stung so badly, she wondered if it had gotten infected at some point on her way from the States to Europe.

"Have some fun, hm?"

She felt him step closer to her, but she kept her eyes down as she taped a new piece of gauze to her swollen skin.

"Can I help with that?"

When his hand brushed her bare hip, Alina smacked it away and pulled her t-shirt down in a single motion. Just as quickly, Brock's fingers closed around her left wrist in a vice grip.

"Let me go," Her voice was hoarse, weaker than she had hoped. She kept her eyes down, scanning the countertop for anything she could grab with her free hand. Her right hand. Her weak hand. What could she do? Hit him over the head with a roll of gauze? The paper cup sitting beside the sink? "I said—"

"And I asked you a question."

"No," Alina said firmly. She looked up at him, unsettled further by the smirk pulling up the corner of his mouth. In the harsh, almost sterile light of the bathroom, the burns on his face stood out in a way that hurt her eyes. "To both. To all of the above. I'm not obsessed with Barnes. I have no interest in your idea of fun. Now let go of my fucking arm."

Alina almost cried out in relief when he did. She could feel the rapid pace of her pulse in her wound and it made her head spin.

"King is delusional. She thinks finding Barnes will somehow revitalize HYDRA and fix everything that's happened." He stepped closer to her again. She wanted to step back, but soon found her legs pressed against the cool porcelain of the toilet bowl. "I keep trying to talk her out of it, get her to see things the right way—"

"The right way?" Alina knew it was better to stay silent. Still, couldn't help but scoff. "Targeting your own agents, drawing them out, making them feel safe, and then executing them? That's right?"

"They're not my agents." Brock only broke eye contact to spit on the beige tile between them. "They're weak, clinging to dead dreams of world domination. HYDRA died with Pierce. Barnes couldn't even kill Rogers. That was his purpose, his one job. Anything that's left of HYDRA is a parasitic disease that deserves to be wiped out, the Asset included."

Alina sucked in a sharp breath as Brock stepped closer to her still. She could feel his breath on her face now, smell it. It was rancid. He was rancid.

"I'm giving you an out, Alina. A chance to come with me and help destroy this disease instead of being exterminated with it. I tried to give King the same offer. She won't give it up." He gave her a sickening, gut-wrenching smirk. "You're still valuable as a mole, you know. Help me take out King, and I'll help you take down S.H.I.E.L.D. next."

"I'm not going to challenge Savannah. Not after everything." Alina tried to take a minuscule step backward, and almost fell onto the toilet. "I don't subscribe to your insanity any more than she does."

"You'd challenge me?" Something flashed in Brock's eyes as his hands down on each of her arms. "After everything?"

Alina sucked in a short breath and twisted away from him. She caught a glimpse of her own terror-stricken face in the mirror as he took hold of her left wrist and used it to pull her back into his chest. She lifted her right hand to land a blow to his head and missed miserably. Even as a highly trained agent, she simply wasn't right-handed.

"Cute."

He used his free hand to press her body closer to his. His hip dug into the wound on her left side, and she couldn't hold back the scream that came out.

She spat in his face and tried to twist away again, but her strength simply wasn't there. Instead, she used the leverage and pulled herself closer to him, injecting as much venom as she could into her next words.

"I'm not one of your fifteen-year-old, brainwashed sex toys. You will not manipulate me like one of them."

"No, of course not," Brock said. He shoved her back into the marble counter, still holding tightly to her left wrist. "You're far too wise to be manipulated. You've seen too much. I guess I'll have to use other methods to make you see my point of view."

Alina pulled away a third time, more willing to dislocate her own wrist than she was to keep Brock Rumlow's hands on her for any longer.

"Did you think I wouldn't find out you stole those files, hm?"

She grunted and squirmed away from his prying hands as they tore at her clothes and hair. Pills skittered onto the floor as she pawed at the countertop, grasped for anything to hold onto or gain leverage with.

"Stop," she whimpered. She pushed his hands away from her t-shirt only for them to return a moment later. His rough hands struggled with the waistband of her jeans, fumbled with her belt. "Stop it! Stop!"

Alina shoved him in the middle of his chest, threw a knee into his side, despite the fact that it made the wound in her own side flare up in blinding pain. She used that pain to drive her forward.

"You kidnapped me! Drugged me, experimented on me!" She landed one blow to Brock's face, which stunned him enough for her to turn for the door before he grabbed her by the back of the head and spun her again.

"I'd hardly call it kidnapping. You were in a S.H.I.E.L.D. facility. I was S.H.I.E.L.D. and I took your treatment into my own hands." He shoved her into the counter and focused his weight on her left side, digging her wound into the edge. Alina screamed. "Weak. Look at yourself. Too weak to fight. Just admit you enjoy this and relax."

She kicked out backward at him and missed every time. His body was too close to her own for her to land a blow. She closed her eyes, unable to look at her own face, let alone the monstrous one leaning over her shoulder.

"Turner should have killed you."

A flame ignited in Alina's stomach. She opened her eyes, forced to stare back at herself. Her tired eyes were bloodshot, full of tears.

_Don't let him do this to you again._

She tried to work an arm free but stood little chance against Brock's newfound strength and his hunger for domination.

"Fine," he growled. "I'll do it my way."

Alina tried to twist her torso so that she could spit in his face. Her action was halted when Brock twisted her hair tighter around his hand and used it as leverage to slam her face into the mirror. Her vision swam but didn't go dark.

"Fuck you..." she groaned, still trying to fight through the pain to escape. "You fucking—"

He wrenched both of her arms behind her back harder and threw her to the floor. On the way down, her head collided with the edge of the marble countertop. The world went dark and there was nothing she could do to hold onto the light. She swam—drowned—in the inky blackness of her own unconscious until her world was flooded once again with blinding pain.

Alina awoke in a daze: shaking, freezing, unaware of how much time had passed. Her face was pressed to the cold tile of the bathroom floor. The ground beneath her hands was slippery as she tried to push herself up. She only made it as far as slumping herself over the toilet bowl. As the realization dawned on her, she reflexively retched. A searing pain that started in her abdomen radiated both up and down. Her head was pounding. Spinning.

She was lying on the bathroom floor in nothing but torn underwear and a black t-shirt that was saturated with her own blood. With shaking hands, she dared to lift the hem of the shirt. Most of the stitches had completely torn, leaving quite the gaping, bleeding gash in her side. S

Her breath came in short, heavy bursts as she slid across the floor and gripped the edge of the counter. Her vision swam. She hardly had the strength to pull herself to her feet.

_Don't lose your grip. Don't. Not again. Just stay focused._

When she did manage to get to her feet, she nearly collapsed again.

_Hyperventilating. Take a breath. Drink water. Redress the wound._

Alina blew short, shaking breaths out of her mouth as she pawed through the spilled contents of the medicine bag for several minutes. She finally found the delicate sewing needle beneath her feet, slick with blood and whatever else.

Of course, she'd had the foresight to bring it in case something happened, but the thread she'd brought along with it had gone missing. She didn't have time to look for it. Alina took a staggering side-step and dumped the contents of the pre-packaged cup of toiletries, courtesy of hotel housekeeping. Her fingers shook as she unwound a string of floss.

She lowered herself onto the toilet and went to work.

_Steady your fingers, God dammit. You've done this before. You've had to stitch yourself up after worse. You've done worse._

The hyperventilation had turned into full-blown hysterical sobs. The pain had almost completely left her mind. The sting of stitching spearmint-flavored dental floss through her skin was nothing compared to the imagery that was coming back to her in heavy, intense waves.

_Why did you keep screaming at him? Why did you keep resisting?_

_All you had to do was lie. You should have kept lying, just like you always lie. You're an agent. That's your job. Why didn't you lie?_

_You knew this would happen._

_Young girls don't make it out of darkened rooms with Brock Rumlow untouched. Sometimes they don't even make it out alive._

_You knew that. You know that._

_You should have done better._

She abandoned the needle and dental floss. The haphazard job would have to do until she could get to a hospital or at the very least, someone with medical supplies and experience.

How long had it lasted? How long has she been unconscious?

Alina glanced at the time and a new wave of hopelessness washed over her. She had thirty minutes until she had to face Savannah and Brock.

She brought her hand up to her head and winced at the sensation. There was a swollen lump on the left side of her forehead, from what she could tell. She lifted her eyes to her own face in the mirror: bloodied, bruised, and streaked with tears. Her bottom lip was split and trembling.

The sight should have brought another wave of hysterical sobbing, but instead, Alina stood and leaned heavily on the counter. The tile was slick with her blood. Her hands left evidence of her trauma on the white marble beneath them.

She looked worse than she had the first day after her HYDRA initiation. Worse than the first time this had happened to her. She stared into the bloody and tear-stricken face in front of her.

_You will never look like this again._

With trembling hands, she managed to scoop up a few loose pain pills and swallow them. Next, she took the closest thing to a shower she could get. The water burned as it ran over the gash in her side, and her hands almost shook too much to properly wash herself. At the very least, she got the blood out of her hair, out from beneath her fingernails, and brushed her teeth.

She didn't bother cleaning up the bathroom. Broken glass from the mirror laid on the counter and blood seemed to streak every inch of the off-white bathroom design. She'd leave it for Savannah or some poor bastard to take care of.

Hair still dripping, Alina limped into the bedroom and discarded the contents of her bag onto the bed. All three folders remained intact. Brock hadn't gone looking for her file, and by virtue of that, hadn't discovered her forgery of the Asset file.

"Italy," Alina said. She tucked the thicker of the two files into her bag and secured the thin one under her arm. Her voice was hoarse, but firm. Empty of all regret or second thoughts. "He's heading toward Italy. Move quickly, you can corner him. Peninsula. Nowhere to go. Can't get on a plane. Can't take a boat. Not without us knowing. HYDRA always knows. Eyes everywhere."

She returned to the bathroom and took one last glance at her shrunken, bruised face in the bathroom mirror before she set out to seal the fate of HYDRA and the Winter Soldier. She collected her things and moved out, prepared to leave the hotel as soon as the meeting had concluded. Her appearance garnered strange glances from the agents patrolling the halls, but she didn't dare look them in the eye.

Savannah answered the door at room 801. Her eyes marginally widened at the sight of Alina's face, but Alina brushed past her and marched the middle of the room. Rumlow was lounging on the bed. Smiling.

"Here's your new intel," Alina said. She threw down the folder next to Brock, biting back the tears in the back of her throat. "Not much. S.H.I.E.L.D. isn't worried about him or his movements, and they're not going to be until he makes a move."

Savannah picked up the folder and absently flipped through it.

"Why would he head South?"

Alina wasn't sure if the question was rhetorical or if it was for the room. She remained silent.

"It doesn't track." Brock sat up and leaned over the file to read along with Savannah. Alina turned away from him and crossed the room the window, hands folded in front of her. "His movements are random, but not like this. This doesn't—"

"Shut up," Savannah said. She turned away from him and started to pace. "It tracks. This movement is erratic, but there's a pattern to it. If these sightings and reports are accurate—"

"You have no reason to believe they are," Brock said with a scoff.

"You have no reason to believe they aren't," Alina cut it without turning around. "This is S.H.I.E.L.D.; they're thorough."

"Thorough doesn't mean correct," Brock said. Alina heard him stand and she turned. He was staring at her, smirking. She blinked back tears and swallowed the vomit trying to crawl up her throat. "What if they're onto you?"

"They're not," Savannah said. She turned back to Alina and Brock. "Malveaux knows what she's doing. She's a good agent. You'd know that if you weren't running around killing your own."

Alina was startled by her words but said nothing. Their bickering continued and she did all that she could to tune them out.

"This is enough to move on," Savannah said. "But I need more. That's without question. Understood?"

"Understood," Alina said.

She turned and focused her gaze only on Savannah. Part of her wished that she could assume Savannah knew what had happened to her face in the time since they last spoke. Everything else in her knew the empty look behind her brown eyes. There at least had been some sense of pity or regret or something tangential to those feelings in the hours leading up to Alina's initiation. But no, Savannah's eyes were empty now. Focused only on the Winter Soldier and his route to the Italian peninsula.

"I'm heading out. Need to get back so I don't blow my cover."

Brock tilted his head and spread his arms wide. Alina could see the scratches on the inside of his arms where she had undoubtedly clawed at him during his attack. She wrung her hands together at the thought of his DNA resting beneath her fingernails.

"Oh, you don't want to visit with us? Have some fun? Munich is a lovely—"

"Enough," Savannah said. She threw down the file folder on the nightstand and crossed her arms. "Malveaux has a job to do. We all do. Let's get back on it."

Alina nodded and headed for the door.

"Oh, Agent Malveaux!" It took everything in Alina to turn around at the sound of Brock's voice. Savannah's back was turned, she was scrolling furiously on her phone, undoubtedly delivering orders for team formations. He smiled at her, his arms crossed. "Merry Christmas."

Alina bit down on the inside of her bottom lip until she tasted blood. She spat on the carpet in front of her and turned for the door. All she could hope was that Savannah's rage would get to her, the way it always did, and that he'd pay the price for his actions over the years. It was a useless hope, but it was the only one she had left.

_How unfortunate my life has become. I've grown to believe I could ever rely on Savannah King._


	8. murderer

**2016**

Alina forced herself to focus while she stood by and listened in agony. She wanted nothing more than to act, to follow Rogers and Barnes into the field and take out Savannah then and there. But that wasn’t strategy. It wasn’t smart. It’d do nothing but further ignite the rage that she could hear Savannah inflicting on Barnes. 

The cold of Siberian winter had seeped into her bones and the cement of the warehouse that surrounded her did nothing to stave it off. Thoughts, memories, and fear coursed through her, but she kept her eyes up and routinely looked around the corner into the room full of massive storage containers.

Things had fallen quiet again. The gunfire had ceased. Alina leaned around the corner just in time to see a gun sliding across the floor toward the doorway. It was far out of reach, too far to maneuver without distracting Rogers and Barnes or alerting Savannah. 

“There’s not a version of this where you win, Soldier,” Savannah said. “Whether you comply or not, I will take you back to HYDRA. You will guide this revolution. You can do it as a leader or a martyr. Your choice.” 

Alina set her jaw and moved around the corner, concealed in the shadow of one of the containers near the entrance to the room. She closed her eyes and pushed her hair away from her face. 

_ Breathe. _

“You and your goddamn illusion of choice,” Barnes said. “I’m not leaving this room with you. Make your move or stop bluffing.”

“Fine.”

Alina leaned around the container, expecting to see Savannah pointing a weapon at Rogers or Barnes. The result was anticlimactic and more confusing than anything. Savannah pulled a square of paper from the back pocket of her jeans. She spoke as she worked at unfolding it. Barnes seemed equally confused and Rogers was nowhere to be seen.

“Zemo killed the other Soldiers,” she said. “I didn’t want it to come to this. You have to believe that.”

Alina drew in a sharp breath and took the chance to move forward, toward the gun that was sitting just a few feet again. She moved slowly, scooped up the gun, and dashed behind another container. 

The first word stopped Alina cold. 

_ No _ .

“Longing,” Savannah said. Her tongue rolled seamlessly, viciously, over the Russian syllables. “Rusted. Furnace.”

Alina took a quick glance over her shoulder but wasted little time in her movements. She grabbed a metal bar near the middle of the side of the steel container and used it to pull herself up enough that she could climb on top. She flattened herself against the cool metal and began to army-crawl toward Savannah and the Asset.

Barnes stumbled, nearly collapsed into the containment unit behind him. It had been such a short time since the episode in Berlin, Alina had no doubt that any resistance against his programming was useless. 

“Daybreak.”

Savannah moved quickly toward Barnes, grabbed a handful of his hair, and forced his face to tilt up toward hers. Alina froze. She was close enough to be concerned about Savannah catching sight of her, but not close enough to take actions. She scanned the room for Rogers

“Seventeen. Benign.”

“NO!” Barnes tried to twist away from Savannah, swung out wildly and missed every time. “Stop. STOP!”

“Nine. Homecoming.” 

Alina turned her head at the pounding of feet against cement. Rogers reentered the room. Her gut heaved with guilt. Had he gone back to look for her?

“Bucky!” Rogers’ voice was hoarse. He ran toward his friend but stopped short, helpless and confused. 

Alina pushed herself to her feet as the next word left Savannah’s lips. 

“One.”

The movement above caught Savannah’s eye, but by the time she had looked up, the butt of a pistol had already come down on the top of Barnes’ head. He collapsed at their feet. Alina caught her balance and threw her weight into Savannah’s torso, unsure of what she would do when they both hit the ground. 

“Malveaux,” Savannah growled. Her eyes burned with something deeply evil. “Why am I not surprised?”

Alina didn’t take time to quip in response. She brought down the butt of the gun on Savannah’s face. The two of them struggled for control of the weapon. Several misfires rang out against the concrete walls, none of which ever hit home.

Alina shifted so that her knee dug into the tip of Savannah’s sternum.

“It’s over. Give it up,” she said. “The Asset, HYDRA, whatever plan you had for the Soldiers, it’s over.”

Savannah leaned up as much as she could and spat blood until Alina’s face. 

“Bucky! Bucky, stop. Buck!” 

Alina whirled around at the sound of Rogers’ desperate pleas just in time for Barnes to grab her by the shoulder and brush her aside like it was nothing. She rolled into a sitting position and watched as Barnes wound his bionic fingers into the front of Savannah’s shirt and lifted her off the ground until they were eye to eye. 

Savannah, trembling and wide-eyed, leaned into him.

“Freight car.”

Alina’s stomach lurched as the last trigger word hung between Bucky and Savannah. Steve was frozen beside Alina, still crouched to attempt to help her up. Whatever Savannah had expected to happen next, it was clear she didn’t see it in the cold eyes of the Winter Soldier.

“Buck…” Steve said helplessly. 

Before his name had even finished leaving Steve’s lips, Barnes swung his left arm down faster than Alina had ever seen him move. Savannah’s body hit the floor with a sickening crunch that left a crack in the solid cement. Steve’s trance broke and he jumped to his friend’s aid. Alina was close behind, prepared to pull him back at the first sign of trouble from the Asset. 

The sight before them was a gruesome one. Savannah was still alive. She wouldn’t be for much longer. Blood trickled from her ears and mouth, tinted the whites of her eyes.

Her gaze met Alina’s and it was clear even in her slow and shaky movements that she hoped to reach for a gun.  

Barnes had become eerily silent and still. She recognized his stance. As eerie as it was, she knew it meant that she and Rogers were safe for the time being. 

“He’s waiting for orders,” Alina said. Steve nodded, his face sunken and pale.

Alina knelt beside Savannah. Her breath shook as it pushed past her lips as she gurgled, truly trying to communicate something despite what had to be a number of broken bones. Alina was silent. She tilted her head and reached for the gun that she had dropped while she and Savannah fought for it. 

“Go ahead,” Alina said. “I want to hear you say it.”

As if her words had cleared the blood and broken bones from whatever part of Savannah’s body was preventing her from speaking, her eyes filled with clarity and peace. 

“Hail…” Savannah let out an ugly cough that sent blood spattering across her chest and Alina’s face. She didn’t flinch. Her eyes rolled a few times before they finally settled on a place in the rafters. Alina leaned in and pressed the barrel of the pistol to Savannah’s temple. “Hail…HY—”

Alina felt Steve jump at the sound of the gunshot. He looked down at her with wide eyes. She stood slowly and met his gaze.

Steve nodded in silent understanding. His eyes moved to Bucky. Before he could ask the question of what to do with him, Alina moved and hit him over the head with the butt of the pistol. His knees buckled, and Alina knew he was truly unconscious.

“Sorry,” she said. “It’s the only way I know how to reset him. Hopefully, I hit him hard enough this time.”

“Yeah…” Steve said. His eyes came back to Savannah King’s unmoving body. “This…” 

“Couldn’t have been planned for,” Alina said. She lowered herself into a squat beside Bucky, rolled her neck a few times, and then sat down. “What now?”

Steve did a once over of the three people on the ground in front of him. 

“Zemo,” he said absently. “Zemo… he’s still here. Has to be.”

“Right.” Alina looked at him expectantly. “So what does that mean?”

Steve shook his head as if he was trying to shake himself back into the right head space.

“It means you call S.H.I.E.L.D. and whoever you need to call to take care of King,” he said. “I’ll wait until Buck is awake, make sure he’s himself. We go from there.”

“I’ll wait with you. Then we worry about the body.” She glanced between Bucky and Steve. “Just to make sure I don’t have to deal with another one.”

Steve let out the shadow of a laugh and sat down in the place Bucky had collapsed just a few minutes before. “Sounds like a plan. Then you’re out of here. He and I deal with Zemo. Non-negotiable.” 

Alina rolled her eyes and saluted. “Yes, Captain.”

Barnes came around in due time. His eyes were wide and full of fear and his first action was to try to scramble to his feet. Alina watched as Steve shushed him, held his shoulders, and forced him to stay on the ground until he had come back to himself.

“Welcome back, soldier,” Alina said. Barnes caught her eye and then glanced toward Savannah’s limp body. Before the question in his face came out of his mouth, Alina answered it. “It wasn’t you. I took care of it. She’s not going to torment anyone anymore. It’s over.”

“That’s not exactly true,” Steve said. He sighed heavily and stood. “Zemo.”

Barnes looked up at him and shook his head, apparently confused. Alina opened her mouth to express that perhaps that he wasn’t in the right state to take on more violence, but he beat her to the punch. 

“Whatever you need me to do, Steve,” he said. 

“You’re sure.” Rogers surveyed Alina and Barnes and then let his eyes settle on his friend. “Only if you're sure. Malveaux can take you back to the quinjet—”

“No,” Barnes said. He started to get to his feet and Rogers reached out a hand to help him. Once he was steady and upright, he straightened his shoulders and looked between the two of them. “We finish this.” 

Steve gave Alina a silent nod as he left the room with Barnes. She wasn’t sure what waited for them as they moved deeper into the warehouse, and all she could hope was that Barnes was stable enough to handle it.

She turned back to Savannah’s body. A shiver prickled her skin. She had half a mind to leave her there to rot in an abandoned HYDRA facility, but the other half just couldn’t do it. Instead, she knelt down, closed Savannah King’s eyes, and carried her lifeless mentor back to the quinjet.

  
  



	9. martyr

**2018**

“It’s been a while.”

Alina wrapped her arms tighter around herself and fought a smile. He’d skipped over a “hello” or any other exasperated response to her call. She could hear the smile and his voice and it warmed her.

“Yeah,” she said. “I needed… some time, I think. I meant to call.”

“It doesn’t always work out that way,” Steve said. “I’m glad you’re calling now. It’s good to hear your voice. Nat mentioned that you’d been… busy. We couldn’t be sure. I don’t care if it’s true, I’m just glad—”

“It is.” Alina cleared her throat and shifted in the phone booth. The windows had begun to fog up and she was sure that no one could see her clearly enough to discern that she was just using the glass box to place a call on her own cell. Still, she felt antsy. “It’s something I need to do.”

“I know how that feels.” Steve sounded as if he had pressed his phone closer to his mouth like he really wanted to emphasize his statement but wasn’t sure how to convey it. “But I want you to know that you don’t. HYDRA is not your responsibility. They are a parasite that will die all on their own now that they don’t have anything to feed off from.”

“You know that’s not true,” Alina said. “These splinter groups will keep coming together. They’ll get stronger and keep assimilating until there’s a new S.H.I.E.L.D. to hide behind. This is my responsibility in so many ways, Rogers. I’m not stopping until they’re dead.”

“So why call?”

Alina sighed and turned in as much of a circle as she could manage. She twirled the wire of the pay phone around her finger, picked up the receiver a few times, and rubbed the bridge of her nose for several moments before she answered. She closed her eyes and gripped her cell phone tighter.

“Kiev,” she said. “I know Romanoff has connections here and I need… I need help with this lead. It’s the last one—”

“It’s always the last one,” Steve said. His tone was not condescending nor disappointed. “It’s never over, Alina. Not until you run into something you never wanted to believe. Not until something falls apart right under you and—”

“This isn’t like Barnes,” Alina cut in sharply. “I’m sorry, but it’s not. I appreciate what you’re trying to do. I appreciate the concern. But it’s just different. I know it sounds like a lot to ask after going dark for so long, but considering everything else, I feel justified in asking. Will you please just trust me with this?”

The line was quiet for a long moment. Alina leaned heavily against the cold glass and began to trace squiggly lines into the fog. She knew Steve wouldn’t hang up on her. No, he’d just keep her waiting. And that he did.

“I’ll talk to Romanoff,” he said. “What’s the name?”

“Turner.” Alina bit down on the inside of her cheek and closed her eyes tightly. “But there has to be an alias. Something I missed, something I don’t have access to. The trail has gone cold and I can’t pick it back up. I know he’s alive and I know he’s here, but it’s not enough to nail anything down.”

Alina could hear the scratch of a pen against paper as Steve muttered under his breath.

“Anything else?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Alina said. “Thank you. I’ll be in touch.”

“I’ll let you know when we have more information.” Steve took a long pause. “Be careful out there, alright? I get it, you have to do this. But don’t overextend yourself.”

“Brock Rumlow and Savannah King trained me for three years,” she said. “My ability to be overextended has long-since expired.”

Steve let out something that resembled a laugh. Alina was about to hang up when he spoke again.

“For the record,” he said. “I do trust you. We both do. We all do. This isn’t a lot ask, and you are completely justified in asking. That’s all true. That doesn’t make it right. It doesn’t make you invincible to getting burnt out. This is… what you’re doing, it’s…”

“It’s a lot,” she cut in. “It’s necessary. If I take time to breathe, or rest, or whatever, who does this? Who follows these leads and makes sure that these bastards are snuffed about before they have time to regroup?”

She didn’t give him a chance to answer.

“You may not understand why I need to do this the way I am, but I know you understand how dangerous these people are. Hudson Turner is the last rat bastard I need to get my hands on before I can sleep at night.” She cleared her throat and ran a hand over her cold cheeks. “There will be more after him, more than emerge and crawl out of their hidey-holes, but he’s the last big one. The last figurehead. He needs to go.”

“Alright,” Steve said. He was quieter. Tired. “Alright, Alina. We’ll be in touch.”

Despite the exhaustion in Steve’s voice, it reassured her. She had found his trust to be incredibly valuable and his trust in her had come in handy, too. He was in contact the next morning with information on Hudson Turner’s whereabouts and more warnings about what she was getting herself into.

Alina had been correct, he was using an alias. Thought, it was one she’d skipped right over, something she’d never even thought to look into.

Hudson Turner was hiding in Kiev. Hiding in plain sight, pretending to be Brock Rumlow.

“According to the intel Nat picked up, he’s not hard to find,” Steve had said.

Nat had taken the phone from Steve to explain with more clarity. Turner was easy to find if someone was looking to get involved with HYDRA or if they didn’t know Brock Rumlow was dead and were seeking him out for some reason. Alina followed the trail that Natasha had laid out for her until it led her to a dimly lit parking lot behind an unmarked warehouse.

_Some things never change._

There were three sleek, black cars parked side by side, all of them empty. There wasn’t much activity in the area, but there were footprints in the snow that lead to the middle vehicle. A mindless oversight that was too stupid to be an accident. Someone had known Alina was coming. In a way, it made her more excited about the exchange about to unfold.

Alina kept herself tucked away while she scrolled through the file of information that Natasha had sent her away. The license plate number that was registered to Turner didn’t match any of the three vehicles that were parked behind the warehouse. Instead of making a haphazard guess, she moved around the building.

A chain-link fence stood between her and another parking lot, one that seemed empty from the position she held. The night was falling and the forecast hadn’t shown signs of heavy snowfall for the next several hours, so she’d need to hurry. Whatever agents were hiding out in the warehouse were aware she was coming and her own footprints in the snow would lead them straight to her if she didn’t do what she needed to do in a timely fashion.

She scaled the fence without issue. It wasn’t electrified or equipped with a roll of barbed wire at the top the way she had expected. As she approached another side of the building, the snow around her on the pavement lay untouched. There was a car tucked tightly against the back, out of view from where she had stood before.

She moved quickly but silently along the edge of the wall until she was within range of the vehicle. Sure enough, the license plate matched. The back of the building was dark, from anything she could tell. There were no windows, doors, or outdoor lights. Whoever had brought the car around had done so purposefully and confidently.

Part of Alina wondered what she’d be walking into if she’d entered one of the cars around the other side of the warehouse or even the building itself. The thought made her heart race and she had to shake away the thought of the exhilaration that would come with fighting through a wall of henchmen to get to Hudson Turner.

She’d done enough of that. Each bloody, theatrical job of the past year had led her to the backseat of a seemingly abandoned black sedan behind an even more abandoned-looking warehouse. She knew HYDRA better than that and was very fortunate that they apparently did not know her the same way.

Alina’s hands shook. The windows were fogging up around her. All she could do was hope that the darkness would mask the fog and wouldn’t raise suspicion until Turner was close enough for a clear shot. Just as the thoughts crossed her mind, the driver side door opened and Hudson Turner flopped into the seat. He raised his hand to his ear, about to transmit a message over comms, but froze when he met Alina’s eyes in the rear-view mirror.

“Agent Malveaux.” He dropped his hand to his lap and cocked his head. “To what in the world do I owe this absolute pleasure? Have you come to renegotiate your loyalties? I must say, it’s a little late for that, all things considered, but—”

Alina cocked her gun and pressed it to his temple. She wrapped her free arm around his neck and pulled him back against the headrest, hard.

“You know what I came for.”

He grunted. A laugh vibrated his seat and he reached out to close the driver side door. Moments passed, and the two of them were in the dark again. Alina’s eyes adjusted quickly and she was able to find his gaze in the rear-view mirror easily.

“I have a score to settle, Agent Turner.”

He scoffed and turned his head into the barrel of her gun as if he was hoping she’d let up long enough for him to look her in the eye directly. She didn’t.

“Our score is long-since settled, Miss Malveaux,” he said.

Alina’s trigger finger trembled, but the weapon in her left hand remained steady. She tightened her right around his neck until she felt his Adam’s apple resting against the inside of her elbow. She was pressed against the back of his seat, nearly kneeling on the floor. Her discomfort mattered much less than his.

“I’m inclined to disagree.”

“So…” Turner tried to cough, but the action didn’t seem to relieve him and he shifted in discomfort. “Is there something you actually want?”

“Oh, rest assured, I have a list.” Alina bit down hard on the inside of her cheek. “I’d like nothing more than to torture you until your heart fails, but I think both of our schedules are a little tight for that.”

“Right,” Turner said. His breathing had become more rapid, his confidence slipping away the way Alina’s warmth had left the car the moment he opened the door. “So, what then?”

“Call off anyone who might interrupt us.”

Turner seemed to hesitate as if he wasn’t sure if it was a trap or if Alina was being serious.

“Do it!” Alina jerked her gun against his head. She loosened her arm around his throat enough for him to speak comfortably. “Do it.”

Turner sighed and lifted his hand to his ear. He paused, took in a sharp breath, and glanced at the rear-view mirror.

“Yeah, yeah, I hear you,” he said. “Fuck, I go quiet for two minutes and you lose it. It’s clear out here. I’ll head out. You stay posted, she could be here any minute.”

Alina nodded and Turner dropped his hand.

“That, of course, a warning for them that you think everything isn’t clear out here,” she said.

“Of course.” Turner drew in a quick breath as she pressed her arm tightly to his throat. “Gotta be honest, Malveaux, I thought you’d be coming for me first. You know, after initiation.”

Alina ground her teeth and pressed the barrel harder against his temple.

“Well, as I said, I have a score to settle. Not just with you. Thought I’d send the message first, give you a little head start.”

“Right.” Turner scoffed. “Because I need a head start on you. You’re the one that had to ambush me. Take me off guard, avoid all my men. Funny, what that might say about a person.”

Turner moved slowly, but not slowly enough to escape Alina’s attention. Even in the dark, she could feel and hear him move to draw his weapon. Without much thought, she dropped her gun from his head and fired it into his left thigh. He screamed and whirled around, gun in one hand while the other gripped his thigh.

Alina grabbed his wrist and twisted until it gave way. The firearm dropped between the driver’s seat and the center console, from what she could hear. Turner was intermittently groaning, grunting, and cursing. Alina climbed into the passenger seat and wrapped her right hand around his throat.

“Sorry, jumpy fingers.” She shifted and pressed the gun to his forehead. “I’m sure it’s cold enough that you won’t bleed to death.”

“You… goddamn bitch!”

Turner spat in her face and Alina reflexively brought him forward before jerking his head back against the window. She heard his teeth clack together and the sound brought an ugly smirk onto her face. He opened his mouth to say something else, but Alina had run out of patience for torture or any other form of justice that would require her to listen to his voice any longer.

She dropped her hand from his neck to his thigh and dug her fingers into the bullet hole. Turner howled and swung out at her, but she dodged his blows without thinking and rammed the barrel of her weapon into the roof of his mouth. Only then did he stop moving entirely.

Their foreheads were pressed together now and Alina stared back into his dark, remorseless eyes without blinking.

“Wait.” The word was muffled, understandably, and Alina stared back into his wide, terrified eyes with empty ones. “I can give you more names. The ones you missed.”

Alina leaned back, tilted her head, and ran her eyes over Turner’s perfectly still body. Despite the trembling from the shock of his gunshot wounds, he seemed as if any minuscule movement would warrant a bullet through his brain.

“I only care about one name.”

“Fine!” He gagged as she pressed the gun further into his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut. “Fine, fine!”

“Brock Rumlow,” she said.

Turner opened his eyes and looked at her blankly, confused. Whatever he thought he needed to say, whatever explanation about why he’d chosen to draw agents in by pretending to be Rumlow, was drowned out by Alina’s own measured words.

“Tell him I hope you both burn slowly in hell.”

She didn’t flinch at the gunshot or the shattering of glass behind Hudson’s Turner’s head. Her hands were steady as she wiped down the weapon and wrapped his own fingers around it. She exited the vehicle with grace.

It wasn’t until she had retraced her steps back to the phone booth that she collapsed. She closed herself inside the glass box and let the windows fog up. The lines she had drawn in it the previous day reappeared faintly. She worked her way to her knees and eventually her feet. Pressed her forehead against the glass, a cold contrast to Hudson Turner’s trembling, clammy skin.

Though Alina’s eyes were wide open, she didn’t see the shadows moving outside in the dim streetlight that sat a few yards away from the phone booth. She didn’t hear the knock at the door or the rusty hinges swing open slowly. It wasn’t until a firm hand came down on her shoulder that she was jolted back into the present.

Her instincts told her wound-up muscles to cry out and swing backward at whoever had touched her, but everything else left those instincts muted and far off from the front of her mind. Instead, she only jumped and slowly turned around.

A man stood in front of her, much of his face covered by a scarf and the giant hood of his winter coat. Alina opened her mouth to apologize for taking up time in the phone booth, but the words dried up on her tongue when she recognized the tired, blue eyes looking back at her.

The man pulled the scarf down and offered her a minuscule smile. It was a gentle action, almost as gentle as the human hand that reached out with her, free of a glove or any other fabric between his skin and hers as she laid her fingers in the palm of his hand. Her mind was still absent, but something about his cold, gentle touch spoke to her.

“Let’s get you out of the cold.”

He didn’t wrap his fingers around hers. He made no move to back out of the phone booth until Alina stepped forward first. She stepped into the night with her fingers wrapped around Bucky Barnes’ human hand.

When she raised her eyes, Natasha Romanoff, recognizable only by the fiery tendrils that fell from beneath the hood of her heavy coat, was standing beside the open passenger door of a blue sedan that was parked on the curb.

“You request intel, you get a ride home,” she said when Alina was in earshot. “It’s pretty standard.”

Alina stopped at the car door. Heat poured out into the street, and it was only then that her body began to shiver. She could only stare at Natasha blankly. She felt the tears in her throat, but they didn’t come.

“You don’t have to say anything.” Natasha nodded toward the open door. “Just get in. We can talk about it later.”

As much as Alina wanted nothing more than to sit in the phone booth, out of the eyes of the public or any of Turner’s men, out of the eyes of the world or of any danger and completely lose control, she nodded. She let her hand fall away from Bucky’s and ducked into the car and let herself be enveloped in warmth. 


	10. mend

“If I had known you were going to follow me, I wouldn’t have told you exactly where I was.” Alina wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and settled onto the couch beside Natasha. “That wasn’t why I asked for intel.”

You weren’t supposed to know you were being followed, that’s why Rogers sent me and Barnes.” 

Natasha offered Alina one of the steaming cups of coffee for the third time since she’d entered the apartment. She tried to wave Natasha off, but the mug remained between the two of them. It had been two days since they’d retrieved her from Kiev and Alina still couldn’t shake her vague sense of resentment.

“I handled it.” She took the mug from Natasha and cupped it between her hands.

“It wasn’t about your ability to handle anything.” Natasha pulled her legs underneath her and turned to face Alina full-on. “No one doubts your skill.”

“So this is about you doubting something else?” When Natasha only tilted her head and gave her a look, Alina rolled her eyes and cast her eyes toward the blank television screen. “I’m fine.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t.”

“Yeah, well no one seems to believe me when I tell them I am.” Alina set her coffee aside and shrugged off the fleece blanket that was draped around her. “I’d just like to be left alone.”

Natasha nodded into her own drink as she sipped it.

“Well, we don’t really do that around here,” she said. “Where will you go?”

“Somewhere else.” Alina stood and crossed her arms. “I was on my own long enough to figure it out and—”

“And be indoctrinated by an ancient Nazi organization of psychopathic assassins.” Natasha looked up at Alina and matched her stand-offish posture. “Look, we’ve all been there. But it doesn’t have to end in blood for everyone.”

Alina bit the inside of her cheek and tried to find words that would make Natasha wrong. Every thought to cross her mind seemed nonsensical. Instead of continuing the argument, she derailed it. Alina expected Natasha to refuse the change in topic and was surprised by her response.

“Where the hell is Rogers?”

Natasha smirked and uncrossed her arms.

“He’ll be here soon. He dropped Barnes back in Wakanda. He’ll be your next babysitter.”

Alina bit back the venom she wanted to throw at Natasha. It was no use. Anything she had to say would be transparent and easily countered. Instead, she settled back into the couch and took up her coffee cup again. The warmth was a small comfort, even if Natasha’s presence was less than that.

Alina had dozed off before she’d even realized how exhausted she was. She stirred and woke at a gentle touch on her hands.

“Sorry.” Steve smiled down at her, one hand on the coffee cup that still sat loosely between her hands. “Didn’t want it to spill.”

“S’fine.” Alina pushed herself up and crossed her legs. “How long have you been here?”

“Just got in. Nat said you were getting antsy.” With a sigh, he sat down next to her. “I’m sorry about that. I meant to be here sooner so I could explain everything.”

“No explanation necessary,” Alina said. “You didn’t trust my judgment, so you did what you had to do to make sure I hadn’t gone insane.”

“You know that’s not true.” Steve shifted and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll admit, the concern came from me. It was Nat’s idea to keep tight tabs on you after you left the States. We’d already been running all over the globe to keep tabs on Vision and Wanda. Taking care of other things in between. It just made sense to put you on the list, too.”

“Yeah,” Alina said. She folded her arms and cast her eyes down. “If you thought this would end with me joining your secret fugitive club, you’re wrong. I don’t want… I don’t want anything. I just want to live.”

“You think the best way to do that is on your own?”

“It always has been.” Alina shrugged off the weight of the lie on her shoulder. “I don’t want to be part of S.H.I.E.L.D. or whatever it has become. But I’m not signing those Accords, Steve. I won’t.”

“I understand that.” Steve snorted and leaned back into the couch. “Trust me, I get that.”

“There are bigger things happening in the world than Enhanced people and their friends. I refuse to let a government, least of all the US government, tell me what gets to matter.” She shook her head and chewed the raw spot on her cheek. “So yeah, I guess on my own is best.”

Steve was quiet for a few moments that turned into minutes. Alina looked up at him, half-expecting to see him sleeping. Instead, her eyes met his and a gave her a flat, sad smile.

“There’s no shame in what you did, Alina. I hope you know you don’t have to hide from that.”

Alina jumped quickly to her own defense.

“I’m not ashamed and I’m not hiding. This isn’t about—”

“Hey, I know.” Steve leaned forward and placed a careful hand on her knee. “I know. Your life isn’t about HYDRA anymore. Your actions don’t boil down to Hudson Turner. All I’m saying is that it’s okay. All of it. Any of it. It’s okay if it hurts and you don’t know why. It’s okay if, for a while, everything you do it tainted with thoughts about him.”

Alina blinked rapidly at Steve. She had been caught off guard, he’d slipped between the bricks in the wall she’d been building about the experience in Kiev and the feelings that came with it.

“There’s no shame. Not from me and not from anyone here. It’s okay if there’s some inside and if that takes time to heal. That’s…” Steve nodded to himself and started to move his hand back to his own lap. “That’s what this about. Just making sure you know.”

As if it had a mind of its own, Alina’s hand shot out and her fingers wrapped around Steve’s. She choked back the lump in her throat and squeezed her eyes shut for a long moment before she found her composure.

“What do I do?” Her voice was jagged around the edges and she squeezed her eyes shut more tightly. “How do I—I can’t… Where do I go?”

“Hey.” Steve laid his free hand over hers and squeezed. “Hey, Malveaux. Eyes up.”

Despite how much she desperately wanted to keep them closed, she opened her eyes. The tears burned as they spilled freely down her cheeks. A choked sob escaped her throat as she looked into Steve’s blurred face.

“I don’t have the answers. I can’t pretend to. These are… hard times. I haven’t figured a lot of it out for myself yet. So I can’t make any promises. I can’t give you any answers.” He squeezed her hand between his palms and smiled sadly. Alina could see his own tears welling up. It seemed much easier for him to keep them down.“But maybe I can do you one better.”

“Yeah?” Alina chuckled through her tears and wiped her face with her free hand. “What’s that, Rogers?”

“A friend.”

Something between a sob and a laugh escaped Alina’s. She pulled her hand from Steve’s and covered her mouth, but there was nothing standing between her full-force crying.

“I can only guarantee one for sure, but I bet I can throw in one or two more.” Steve slid closer to her and rested a gentle hand on her arm as she shook. “Deal?”

Alina couldn’t bring herself to form a coherent sentence, but instead nodded and fell forward into Steve’s shoulder. He shushed her and rocked from side to side, held the back of her head as she let it all go, soaked his t-shirt in tears and snot. She didn’t know how long it took, but it felt like hours by the time she had regained some semblance of composure.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

Steve leaned back so he could see her face, which was surely inflamed and blotchy.

“Does this mean you’ll stay and let us help?”

Another sob-laugh broke out of Alina as she pulled away from Steve and scrubbed the tears from her face with the sleeve of her shirt.

“Yes,” she finally said. “Yes, Steve, it means I will stay and let you help, no matter how much I absolutely don’t need it.”

Though she wasn’t sure what that actually meant for the coming days, she didn’t fear it. 

For once, she didn’t fear it. 


End file.
